


In Which Peter is Not Okay

by ladyamante



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Anxiety, Brief mention of daddy kink, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Everyone Needs A Hug, Explicit Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned Skip Westcott, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Spideypool Big Bang 2019, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, don't worry there's fluff too, genderfluid!wade, hallucination, voice boxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 55,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamante/pseuds/ladyamante
Summary: Peter has hit rock bottom. He is anxious all the time, he can’t get out of bed for days on end. He’s isolated himself from his friends and Aunt May. What happened with Skip was ages ago, and he’s Spider-Man now, so he should be fine, right?One night, Peter finds himself at the top of a building, ready to jump, when an unlikely person steps in.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 114
Kudos: 930
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2019 Collection





	1. Rooftop Meet-Cute

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to thank my beta reader, Nirlan, for pointing out things that needed work, and leaving me hilarious and encouraging comments. Without them I'd have sat on the floor, angsted about fixing my rough draft, and pulled all my hair out.
> 
> I’d also like to thank my artist, Gensyz, who made a beautiful banner, and two gorgeous illustrations. I teared up when I first saw the art they made. Wade looks so pretty in their style, and Peter is so friggin’ adorable!!
> 
> Additionally, I’d like to thank my sister for listening to me talk on and on about this story. She listened to my plot problems, characterization problems, and continuity problems. Essentially, she put up with a lot of my shit.
> 
> Thank you to the mods of the Spideypool Big Bang, LunaStories, MsCaptainWinchester, and Nimohtar. You all made this awesome event possible!
> 
> Finally, I’d like to thank coffee. Without caffeine, I would have never been able to focus properly and get all this shit done.

“Are you gonna jump?”

Peter would have been startled if he hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching.

“Why else would he be up here?” There was an odd pause as though the speaker was listening to something–like someone was replying, but Peter didn’t hear anyone else. “Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a dick, Yellow.”

Peter ignored him, hoping the other man would get the hint. Instead, he heard the footsteps get closer. The other man hopped up on the ledge next to him and sat. Peter glanced over to see the man was in a full-body red and black suit.

“I’m Deadpool, but most people just call me ‘for god’s sakes shut up’. I think it’s a family name.”

Peter couldn’t tell if he was meant to laugh. He didn’t feel like it.

Deadpool opened one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out something wrapped in tinfoil.

“So,” Deadpool began, peeling back the foil on a burrito. “Are you?” 

Peter stared blankly at him, trying to process the odd question.

“Going to become a pavement pancake,” Deadpool explained, gesturing with his burrito as he talked. “Take a swan dive.”

He reached up to his mask, but hesitated for a moment. After a second he rolled the mask up to his nose. The bottom half of his face was covered in angry, red scars. Peter had no problem seeing them in the dim light.

Deadpool took a bite of the burrito and the scars stretched and pulled with the movement. Peter averted his eyes to the pavement. It was wet from the rain earlier. How long would it take to wash the blood away if he jumped?

“I don’t think it was insensitive. Who taught you such big words anyway?” Deadpool said through a mouthful of burrito. A piece of lettuce flies out. “Well, how would you have said it, Einstein?”

Peter’s stomach twisted at the nickname. His reason for the late-night rooftop visit came rushing back to him.

Meanwhile, Deadpool seemed to be having a lively debate with himself. Peter wondered what he was hearing.

“Why are you here?” Peter asked, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired.

There was a distant splat, and Peter looked over to see Deadpool’s hands were empty.

“Motherfucker!” Deadpool swore and looked down forlornly, and Peter saw that the burrito had fallen to the pavement.

Deadpool lunged like he was going to jump down after the burrito. On instinct, Peter stuck one of his hands to the roof beside him and grabbed Deadpool’s arm with the other.

“Shit nuggets! Mother flipping, dick-kicking gravity!” Deadpool growled. He eyed the hand on his shoulder and Peter’s spidey sense fluttered. He made sure Deadpool wasn’t going to fall, and then retracted his hand.

Just as quickly as he got upset, Deadpool was calm, like he hadn’t been prepared to die for takeout and then hurt Peter for stopping him.

“In answer to your previous question, I was going to eat my dinner,” Deadpool said, tone cheerful again. “I figured I might spot Spidey from up here too. Maybe tag along with him on patrol. You know, cop a feel of that sweet sweet bootay.”

There was no chance of that, Peter wanted to say. Both the booty thing, and also the patrolling. Spider-Man was busy considering the view of the pavement from the roof.

“Anywho,” Deadpool continued, seemingly okay with carrying the conversation. “About the whole suicide thing. Are you gonna do it? It seems like that’s the only logical reason for sitting on a roof at two AM.”

Peter shrugged. He wasn’t trying to be annoying or mysterious. He genuinely didn’t know what he was going to do. He wanted this all to be over–the exhaustion, the constant feeling of not being safe–but he didn’t necessarily want to end his own life. He just wanted it over.

As if reading his thoughts, Deadpool continued, “Let me guess, you’re not super committed to the idea. You’re tired or depressed, or both, and you just want everything to stop being so shitty.”

Peter jolted. That was a little too on the nose. He turned to look at Deadpool who looked back with an odd intensity that Peter could read even through the mask.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m not gonna say stupid shit about permanent solutions to temporary problems. That’s about as helpful as telling you to do yoga, and while I would pay cash money to see you getting all bendy, as Whitey points out, that probably won’t solve whatever this is.” Deadpool gestured vaguely to Peter.

“You have two choices. If you want, you can jump right now. I won’t try and stop you. You can just...” Deadpool mimed jumping with one of his hands. He made an exaggerated diving plane noise to go with and slapped the hand on the roof. “Go splat.”

Peter shuddered.

“It’ll be gross. Believe me. Your brain will be mush, and all of your bones will snap like barbie lawn furniture. You’ll just be a bloody skidmark,” Wade continued.

The image made Peter’s stomach turn. He’d seen people after they jumped, but something about Deadpool’s colorful description was particularly horrifying.

“Or, there’s option two. We hit up an IHOP and eat piles and piles of pancakes until we hoark our ever-loving guts out, because my burrito went splat and I’m fucking starving, and you, my fine-boned friend, look like a stiff–heh–wind could knock you over.”

Peter blinked dumbly. Why was this random stranger talking to him? Why was he even bothering?

“Unless he’s a french toast man, in which case I’ll maybe have to stab him,” Deadpool muttered to himself. “Just a teeny bit.”

What was Deadpool’s angle?

“Why?” Peter asked. He was annoyed at his own monosyllabic replies, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. His brain was too foggy.

“Because pancakes are the bomb, and IHOP is open late.”

Peter shook his head and huffed.

“No, not that. Why are you here?”

“Who the fuck cares? I’m bored. You’re just a kid. I’ve been where you are, went splat– more than once actually. Take your pick. Does it really matter?” Deadpool asked.

Peter looked at Deadpool and thought about what answer he was looking for. He realized it genuinely didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have accepted pity, so Deadpool’s indifference was actually comforting.

“I’m twenty-five,” Peter said finally.

“And I’m a Cancer. The fuck does it matter?”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter’s voice got traitorously high as he spoke.

Deadpool giggled.

“We’ll agree to disagree on that one, cupcake,” Deadpool said, reaching over to pinch Peter’s cheek. Peter jolted away before his gloved hand could make contact.

“Now come on. Daddypool needs some food. I think my little guts are starting to eat my big guts,” Deadpool declared cheerfully before hopping up.

He gave a little hip wiggle as he walked away, not looking back to see if Peter followed. Peter sent the pavement below one last look before he followed Deadpool toward the fire escape.

This was the first time Peter had been in an IHOP so late at night. Although he guessed it was probably closer to early morning at this point. The crowd was about what he’d expect for the time. And by that he meant there wasn’t much of a crowd. 

There was a table of drunk college kids. They were a little rowdy, but mostly they were busy eating and probably coming down after a night of partying. 

There was also a lone old man in a booth with a cup of coffee, and ragged clothes. He probably came in to warm up.

The waitress looked like she had been on her feet for hours, and when the door chimed she perked up. Peter saw her paste on a smile to greet them.

“Welcome to IHOP. How many in your party?” she asked.

Deadpool was probably the only person who was cheery at this ungodly time.

“Why hello there, Theresa. Pretty name. It’s just me, and this teeny tiny drink of water here. I’m actually taking my son here out for breakfast. You know, it’s the most important meal of the day, and I wanna make sure he’s ready for the big game,” Deadpool rambled. “Give us your least sticky booth and some coffee por favor. Actually, just bring a couple cups and the whole pot.”

The woman nodded, looking too tired to process the bullshit that was coming out of Deadpool’s mouth. Peter couldn’t tell if she was too sleepy to notice the full leather suit, mask, and weapons, or if she just decided to ignore them. Deadpool paid her no mind and was already grabbing Peter’s wrist and tugging him along over to the big corner booth.

Peter found himself nudged into the booth on one side, and Deadpool sat on the other so there was a corner of the table between them. 

Under the bright fluorescent lights of the diner, Peter took the opportunity to get a better look at Deadpool. He was dressed head to toe in what looked like leather and possibly kevlar. He had two swords strapped to his back, guns in holsters on his legs, and those were just the weapons Peter could see. He’d bet dollars to doughnuts those weren’t the only weapons Deadpool had.

Theresa brought them their coffee and menus, and at Deadpool’s pointed look, she left the coffee pot on the table. Peter reached for a cup, but Deadpool pulled it away from him.

“Nuh-uh half-pint this here’s for grown-ups. We’re gonna get you a hot cocoa,” Deadpool said.

“Why’d you ask for two cups then?” Peter muttered. 

Deadpool ignored the question.

Peter was tempted to grab the cup anyway, or maybe dump the hot coffee onto Deadpool’s lap in retaliation, but truth be told, hot chocolate sounded better.

“Besides, caffeine’s an appetite suppressant, and by the looks of you, Kate Moss, you don’t need that right now,” Deadpool said, pouring coffee into both of the cups, apparently intending to drink from both of them.

“Hey, Theresa! Get shortcake here a hot chocolate,” Deadpool said.

The diner was empty enough that his voice echoed in the space. Theresa looked up from where she was refilling the coffee of the homeless man and gave a nod of acknowledgement.

Peter didn’t have much money on him, but he had a feeling he’d be giving her all of it to make up for her putting up with them.

“See, me, I’m an emotional eater. When I get sad, I eat. When I’m happy, I eat. If it weren’t for my metabolism, I wouldn’t be able to keep my girlish figure. Imagine trying to squeeze into leather then.”

The waitress brought Peter a mug of hot cocoa stacked high with whipped cream, and after some bullying on Deadpool’s part she left the can of whipped cream with them. It was crappy, out of the packet hot chocolate, but it tasted amazing.

True to his word, Deadpool ordered them pancakes. He also got them plates stacked high with bacon and sausage, scrambled eggs, chocolate-filled crepes, potato pancakes, and despite his previous animosity towards them, french toast. 

Deadpool covered his pancakes in maple syrup, but not the syrup from the restaurant. He pulled out a bottle from one of the many pouches on his utility belt and poured a good few tablespoons of it onto his food.

Peter wasn’t sure what was expected of him. Did Deadpool want him to talk? He didn’t really have the energy. He was tired and a lot more hungry than he’d thought. He powered through the bacon and pancakes. His mug of hot chocolate was refilled every time he got near the end, and he was ashamed to say he was so busy eating he didn’t notice when Theresa brought him more, so he didn’t get a chance to thank her.

Deadpool kept up a one-sided conversation the entire time. He didn’t seem to expect a response. He commented on the other patrons, shows he’d watched recently, the news. Occasionally he went off on tangents about missions, but they sounded so ludicrous that at first Peter was convinced he was talking about a video game. 

The more the man spoke, the more it became clear he was either an enthusiastic cosplayer, or a superhero. More than once he got caught up fanboying over Captain America. And he talked about the other heroes as though he’d met them, which struck Peter as odd, because usually he was up-to-date on all the supers in the area.

Finally, after finishing off two more plates of food than a normal person probably should have been able to eat, Peter was full. Almost uncomfortably full. It had been a while since he’d eaten that much.

By this time, the drunk kids had cleared out, and the only people left were Peter and Deadpool, Theresa, and the old man who’d all but fallen asleep next to his coffee. When Theresa brought them another full pot of coffee and another refill for Peter’s hot cocoa, Deadpool ordered a full breakfast of pancakes and eggs and bacon, leaving Peter wondering how he could possibly still be hungry.

“Send it to Billy Bob over there,” Deadpool said. He waved Theresa away with a gloved hand–he hadn’t taken them off the whole time they ate–and kept eating like nothing happened.

“That was really nice of you,” Peter said. It was the first thing he’d said to Deadpool since the man dragged him to the IHOP.

“It speaks!” Deadpool said.

Peter burned with shame. He’d been incredibly rude, sitting there eating and ignoring Deadpool. The man had bought him food, and Peter couldn’t even repay him with this simple kindness. Before he could spiral anymore, Deadpool was already off on another tangent.

“Spidey!” Deadpool wolf-whistled, startling Theresa, and the half-asleep man.

Peter turned to follow Deadpool’s gaze. He looked over to see the news was playing on the tv behind the counter. 

“The public menace known as Spider-Man destroyed a local electronics store two days ago. He was accompanied by an individual with metal wings. It is unknown if the two of them are partners, but what is clear, is that Spider-Man continues to plague the citizens of New York.” The familiar voice of J. Jonah Jameson narrated footage of Spider-Man fighting the Vulture.

Peter recalled the fight. He’d been tired and careless. The Vulture got a lucky hit in, sending Peter through the side of a building. That must have been the electronics store Jameson claimed Spider-Man had destroyed.

“Looks like he got his ass kicked,” Peter commented, watching the replay of himself being flung through the air. He winced when he saw the moment his back smacked through the wall. The microphones didn’t pick up the noise, but he could practically feel it again watching the footage; the way the impact hurt all the way to his teeth. He still had bruises from that fight.

“Meh. Nothing keeps Spidey down for long,” Deadpool said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’s the real deal. Any idiot with superstrength and some tights can punch bad guys, but Spidey, he’s a real hero.” Deadpool tone sounded almost worshipful.

“You like him?” Peter asked, gesturing to the screen. “He doesn’t do much. Not like the big superheroes.” 

Ironman made technology that helped thousands, and his company spent millions on philanthropic endeavors. Captain America led a whole team of heroes who had saved the entire world multiple times over. What had Peter ever done as Spider-Man that was really important?

Something in his tone must not have pleased Deadpool, because his voice got low, and threatening.

“Hey, don’t be bad-mouthing Spidey,” Deadpool said, pointing a finger at Peter. “That guy’s a hero.” 

It was odd to have someone talk about Spider-Man to him. Peter was used to hearing Jameson badmouth Spidey to his face, and he’d had friends who liked to talk about the latest Spider-Man fight, but no one had ever defended Spider-Man so fiercely in front of him. It felt nice.

“Don’t let Jameson fill your head with shit. Pretty sure that guy’s just working through a gay crisis for that ass, and taking it out on Spidey.”

Peter made a strangled, choking noise.

Deadpool insisted on paying for the meal, and Peter felt customary guilt for the gesture, but he knew there was no way he would have been able to even make a dent in the bill with what little cash he had.

When Deadpool left the IHOP, Peter fell into step with him. He didn’t know what else to do with himself, and to be honest this was the most comfortable he’d felt with someone in a while. 

Don’t get him wrong, he still didn’t quite trust the man. Who dressed up in a full-body suit made of leather and a mask and wasn’t a bit of a nutjob? Maybe it was because Peter was also one of those freaks in a full-body suit in his spare time, or maybe he really had just reached ‘fuck it’ levels of not caring. Either way, spending more time with Deadpool seemed like a good idea.

“What do you do, kid? You in school? College?”

Deadpool paused, and sent Peter an inscrutable look through his mask.

“High school?”

Could he really still call himself a college student? Peter thought about the textbooks gathering dust on his lone bookshelf at his apartment (a bookshelf that was actually a couple of milk crates he’d rescued from the dumpster out back); textbooks for courses he’d signed up for, but never got the chance to take because his financial aid was denied. It turned out, swinging around fighting crime all the time wasn’t the best for his attendance record. Sometimes Spidey-ing got in the way, and other times he couldn’t get out of bed

It also didn’t help that when he had been able to go to school, his performance was sporadic at best. Maybe all those knocks to the head in fights with villains did permanent damage to his brain.

“I finished high school. I’m a photographer.”

Deadpool continued on, swinging his arms as he walked. Peter heard him mutter something about not having to call parents.

“Oh yeah? Snap me like one of your french girls,” Deadpool said louder, flinging himself against the side of a building and leaning back on it, cocking out his hip and throwing his arms up in what was probably meant to be an alluring pose.

“Not that kind of photographer,” Peter said, lips quirked up in amusement.

“Boring,” Deadpool whined, throwing himself away from the building.

For some reason Peter wanted to impress Deadpool, so instead of letting it rest, he told him more.

“Spider-Man.” Eloquence, thy name was Peter Parker. Peter resisted the urge to plant his face in his hand.

Deadpool tripped, and comically wheeled his arms around to keep from landing on the pavement.

“Say what now? Where?” 

Deadpool looked around like he was trying to catch a glimpse of spandex. No luck of that happening now, with Peter beside him, but Deadpool didn’t know that.

“That’s what I take photos of,” Peter explained. “I take photos of Spider-Man for the Bugle.”

Deadpool frowned, and it was odd how easily Peter could see his expression through the mask. Peter wondered how he made his mask do that. That would be handy, because Peter had often been told the Spidey mask made him too intimidating.

“Why you gotta do my Spidey dirty like that?” Deadpool sounded aghast.

It took a minute to realize what Deadpool meant. Peter was too focused on the whole “my Spidey” thing.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you two were friends,” Peter said. “If it helps any, it’s just for the money. Guy’s gotta eat.”

Peter tried going to other papers before. Unfortunately, no one wanted to mess with Jameson. Once the man realized Peter was the best at capturing New York’s wall-crawler, he bullied and blackmailed everyone into turning Peter away, so he had no choice but to stay at the Bugle. Jameson fired him every other week, berated him for hours on end, and the job was miserable, but at least it put food on the table.

Deadpool’s shoulders slumped.

“We haven’t exactly met.”

“No superhero team-ups with him yet?” Peter teased.

For some reason this made Deadpool fold in on himself even more. 

And then just like that his mood changed again. He stood up straight and his voice was oddly cheery when he spoke next.

“He should be so lucky. Aha! We’re here!”

Before Peter could react, Deadpool grabbed his wrist and dragged him across the road. It was a combination of luck and Peter’s Spidey senses that kept them from becoming roadkill. 

Once they were safely on the other side, Peter saw where Deadpool had been leading them.

“Sacred Heart Hospital?”

Deadpool’s grip on his wrist stayed firm.

The sign bathed them in a sickly glow. For the first time tonight, Deadpool was completely still.

Peter’s stomach dropped out.

“I know I’m not exactly the picture of mental health, but it seems like you’re going through shit.”

Understatement of the century.

“You’re too young to be throwing your life away. And maybe things are shitty right now, but that could change,” Deadpool continued. 

Deadpool gave Peter’s wrist a gentle squeeze and then he let go. Peter found himself wondering how old Deadpool was. He sounded world-wearied.

Peter didn’t know what to say. He could tell Deadpool he hadn’t actually been thinking about jumping off that building tonight, but that would just be a lie.

“There’s people there who can help you,” Deadpool said when it was clear Peter didn’t intend to speak. “Or so I’ve heard.” 

Deadpool scratched at the side of his mask.

“Okay,” Peter said finally.

“You’ll go get help?” Deadpool asked, sounding hopeful.

Peter nodded. It made his stomach turn to lie like this, but he got the impression Deadpool might bodily carry him inside if he didn’t agree to do it himself.

“Woohoo! I did good!” Deadpool cheered, doing a little dance. “I’m a hero like Spidey.”

The display made Peter feel even worse.

“Do you want me to walk you in, or--”

Peter waved him off.

“You’ve already done so much. I’m fine on my own,” Peter insisted.

Before he left, Deadpool watched Peter walk in. Peter waited until his spidey sense stopped alerting him to being watched before walking back out and heading home. It was a long walk, but it felt like proper penance for lying.

When he got home, he googled “Deadpool”. Mostly there were forum discussions about Deadpool sightings like he was bigfoot or Mole Man. The stories were mostly second and third-hand accounts, and they ranged from vague sightings of him eating, to stories about him saving people from traffickers, which lent credence to the idea that he was a superhero. 

There was a disturbing post about someone witnessing Deadpool slaughter a dozen people in cold blood, but as with the other stories, Peter took it with a grain of salt.

When Peter went to change into his pajamas, he found a business card that Deadpool must have slipped into his pocket at some point. It had a logo that looked like Deadpool’s mask along with a name: Wade Wilson. Was that his real name? Underneath, there was a phone number, and in pen a note telling Peter to call if he was feeling “jumpy”. Peter appreciated the gesture, but he knew he wouldn’t use the number.


	2. Arcade Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Deadpool run into each other again. And it's definitely, completely an accident.

Peter went in early to give Jameson the latest photos of Spider-Man. Predictably, Jameson complained and shouted at him. 

“These are worse photos than a baby could take. Are you a baby, Parker?”

No, he wasn’t a baby.

“They’re trash!”

If they were trash, why did Jameson exclusively keep using Peter’s photos when covering Spider-Man? Peter didn’t bother talking back though. He’d learned early on that nodding and acting like he was listening was the best course of action, and would expedite the process of Jameson’s lectures.

“You’re fired!” Jameson’s face was beet red, and Peter just barely dodged flying spittle.

This was the third time that week Jameson had ‘fired’ Peter. It was Tuesday.

After a lot of yelling, and a timely interruption from his coworker, Betty, Peter managed to sell a couple of photos, and get his piddly commission that would hold him over for the rest of the week. He mentally added taking more photos to his to-do list. Maybe he could go out and piss off one of Spidey’s villains to get more photos. No, bad Peter, that wasn’t a superhero-y thing to do.

It was still early. Old Peter would have taken this time to go visit Aunt May, or maybe grab lunch with a friend, but all Peter felt like doing when he wasn’t Spidey-ing or actively working, was holing up on his couch.

He stopped off in the coffee shop he always used to go to near the Bugle. It used to be an excuse to chat with people, and get his caffeine fix. Now he usually made coffee at home because it was cheaper, but he was feeling good about selling the photos and he wanted to treat himself.

The bell dinged when he went in, and right away he felt on edge, like everyone was watching him. He swore his spidey sense tingled and he couldn’t tell if it was imagined or real. Either way, he tensed and his heart was suddenly racing. While he waited in line he pretended to check out the menu, though it hadn’t changed since he was last here. He pulled out his phone and checked for messages; anything to keep him from having to make eye contact.

Finally, it was his turn. He’d already practiced ordering his soy latte five times in his head.

“Hi there, how are you?” the woman said, giving him a bright smile.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Fine,” his voice came out oddly high. “You?”

He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination but she looked concerned. He shuffled on his feet and fiddled with the money in his hand. He was so focused on worrying about people watching him he didn’t hear her answer.

“Soy latte?” he ordered, making it sound like a question.

He answered her questions and paid, but it was all a blur.

He was so out of practice with human interaction. With Jameson he just stood there and got yelled at, which was hardly a conversation. When it came to human interaction his palms got all sweaty, and he stumbled over his words. The last real conversation he’d had that didn’t go badly was with Deadpool.

In the mask it was easier to talk to people. He felt more confident. If anyone was judging him then, they were judging Spider-Man, not Peter. Without the mask he was just a nervous, awkward-looking boy who got a panic attack from having to ask for the price of something at the grocery store, because he’d like to just buy it but if he didn’t know the price then it might not fit within his budget for the week, and for some reason his brain was convinced the grocery store clerk didn’t want to be bothered by him.

When his order was up, he snatched it up from the counter, burning his palm in his haste, but he wasn’t about to go back for a sleeve for the cup.

In his haste to leave he slammed into someone. His coffee exploded everywhere. By the time he’d pulled off his sweater, whoever ran into him had already left. Jerk.

Again, he got the feeling he was being watched, but he brushed it off as paranoia. He’d been on edge lately. There shouldn’t be a reason for it, because most of his enemies had been quiet. The Vulture was in prison, same with the Rhino, and Electro. Kraven had changed his ways if Squirrel Girl was to be believed. There was no one out to get him, at least not more than usual.

“It’s just in your head, Peter. It’s all in your head.”

He wrung out his sweater, and tossed the now empty coffee cup. Thankfully the sweater mostly saved his shirt from the coffee. He was too embarrassed to go back for another coffee, so he headed to the subway.

All the way onto the subway he felt like he was being watched. It was difficult to piece apart what was paranoia, and what was spidey sense. He tried discreetly looking around, but no one in particular stood out. The group of teenagers at the back were loud, but not concerning. There were the usual tired people in suits, and a couple homeless men sleeping curled over their bags.

He got off at his regular spot and kept a wary eye out, but again no one looked suspicious. He was just about to ignore it when his ears picked out the sound of footsteps. They were quiet, so quiet he wouldn’t have noticed them if he hadn’t been focusing. 

Whoever it was, was getting closer.

Peter’s palms were sweaty. He waited until he could hear the person’s breathing, until the very last second, to turn around inhumanly fast. He was a blur, and before they could react, Peter had them pressed up against the wall with an arm pressed to their throat.

This all happened in a matter of seconds.

Peter felt the man’s chest heave under his arm. When he looked up he didn’t see a face, instead he saw a mask. Deadpool was out of his leather suit, and instead wore a generic hoodie and jeans.

“You,” Peter said.

Deadpool’s hand reached down like he was going to grab for something, and Peter’s spidey sense thrummed.

“Roof guy,” Deadpool greeted. “You’re pretty quick for a nerd. The ladies must love you.”

Deadpool spread out his arms and leaned back against the dirty subway station wall like they were having a nice chat, and Peter didn’t have his arm pressing into the man’s throat.

Peter had the sudden thought of pushing down. It wouldn’t take much effort to crush Deadpool’s windpipe. Actually only about five pounds of pressure to crush it--Peter had looked it up once out of curiosity and a perverse need to know the limits of a normal body after he’d gotten his powers.

Five pounds of pressure. For Peter it was as easy as flexing his arm. Other people were so breakable.

Just as soon as the thought came, it passed, and Peter felt sick. He stumbled back to put space between himself and Deadpool.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to assume. You must be a hit with the fellas too.”

“Were you following me?” Peter asked.

“I was taking the subway. Like you do,” Deadpool said.

For some reason the statement rang false to Peter, but he was probably being paranoid. Of course it was possible Deadpool would take the subway. This wasn’t the first time Peter’s spidey sense had acted up, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Sorry, it’s been a long...week,” Peter said, swiping a hand down his face.

He still hadn’t gotten his caffeine fix, and his sweater was soaked in coffee, which meant he was chilly.

“It’s Wednesday,” Deadpool pointed out.

“Actually, it’s Tuesday,” Peter corrected, turning to keep walking. He wanted to be home in his blankets.

“Even worse,” Deadpool said, falling into step beside Peter.

Peter sent him a curious look.

“I’m headed this way too,” Deadpool said, gesturing to the road they were on.

This time Peter was sure he was lying. Something in the way he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, looking too innocent. Or maybe it was the way he added, “Yep. I definitely was going this way anyway.”

When Peter continued to stare, Deadpool caved.

“Fine, I’m going this way because you are.”

Peter couldn’t decide if Deadpool walking with him was endearing or weird, but before he could decide the man started talking again.

“You know what always helps me after a long day?”

“Puppies?” Peter asked.

Deadpool leaned over, probably to nudge Peter with his shoulder, but Peter dodged.

“No, silly. Arcades.” Deadpool held out his hands in a ‘ta-da’ gesture.

Peter thought back to the few times he and Ned had gone to arcades when he was younger. They always smelled like cheese, and they made you pay a good half of your coins just for a solid half hour of gameplay. And even then, the machines were sticky. He’d never quite understood the point when you could just go to your friend’s house and play video games.

“How ‘bout it, baby boy? You, me, and playing around with a joystick?” 

Peter saw the eyebrow wiggle through Deadpool’s mask. He somehow managed to make his comments sexual, without being aggressive.

“You stalked me to play video games?”

“Stalking is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as doing my superhero-ly due diligence. After all, I have to make sure you don’t go offing yourself again.”

Peter could go home and sleep. Back to his empty apartment, and the moldy take-out in his fridge that he’d been secretly hoping would grow legs and walk itself to the garbage. Or he could pretend to be social for a little bit. Fuck it. He was too tired to be suspicious of Deadpool, and the man had been kind so far.

The arcade smelled like old cheese, and sweaty kids.

The first thing Deadpool did was go to the front. When Peter tried to pay, he threw Peter’s wallet across the room, giving him ample time to buy two huge bags of tokens. Either the kid working there was stoned, or he’d seen Deadpool before, because he didn’t bat an eye at the mask.

“What games do you like, baby boy?” Deadpool gestured broadly to the room.

“I guess the driving games?” Those were the ones he and Ned used to love, probably because the idea of driving was so novel.

Deadpool groaned.

“Oh my god, why? They don’t let you shoot things or give you tickets. Literally every other game is more fun than that. Except the motherfucking claw game.”

“You asked me what I liked.”

Deadpool eyed the bags of tokens in his hands and sighed.

“Fine. We’ll do one of the driving games,” he said it like he was agreeing to a Tapatio colonic. “But I hope you know we’re only doing this because you tried to kill yourself. This is a pity thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said skeptically, following Wade as he made his way to a “Rapid & Rageful” driving game at the back.

It was odd to see Wade out of his suit. Even though he knew what it was like to have a superhero alter ego, it was always odd to see people out of their suits. Of course, he still had his mask on, but even that was different. Peter had only seen that mask once, but that one had looked thicker and more leathery. This one looked like it was made of thinner material. Peter wondered if Wade always wore his mask. He took it off when he slept, right?

As far as Peter knew, Wade didn’t have a secret identity. The man couldn’t be all that concerned with anonymity if his real name was printed on Deadpool business cards.

As if reading his mind, Deadpool grabbed at his own sweatshirt and tugged at it lightly.

“It draws less attention than the suit, not that the suit doesn’t look good,” Wade said. “It’s just nice to fly under the radar sometimes. Less eyes on me”

Peter didn’t mention how the mask made that entirely improbable. Clearly, the mask was a touchy subject for Wade.

Wade shrugged his shoulders as though to physically shake off the eyes on him. Even here, Peter saw a few suspicious glances toward Deadpool, people gave him a wide berth. Either they knew who he was, or they just inherently mistrusted someone wearing a mask. Peter didn’t blame them. There was something unnerving about being on the other end of blank white eyes for once.

Deadpool fed the tokens into the game, and Peter hopped onto the fake motorcycle. He didn’t say it, but Deadpool was right, this did feel a lot more badass than the other game. He expected Deadpool to lean up against the side of the machine like with the last one, half watching the screen, and half eyeing up the rest of the arcade while he complained about Peter’s boring choice of games, but as soon as he finished feeding in the tokens he came over to the motorcycle and bodily lifted Peter to move him to the back of the bike before he straddled the front.

Peter hesitantly leaned forward to put his arms around Deadpool, and reached forward to grab the handlebars.

“I’m flying, Jack!” Deadpool cried excitedly.

The game started and right away Deadpool was wildly unhelpful. Peter couldn’t tell if he was being purposefully unhelpful or if he was just naturally useless at the game. He wiggled at just the wrong moments, and knocked into Peter’s arms. He tilted to the left when they needed to tilt right. Every time Peter did something right Wade yelped excitedly, which startled Peter and made him run their virtual motorcycle into the walls of the race track.

It wasn’t long before the game froze, asking them for more tokens. Peter tried a couple more rounds before admitting defeat, and Deadpool hopped up and clapped talking about how it was his turn next, and he was going to kill it – hopefully metaphorically – at the next game.

Peter expected Deadpool to drag him over to the robot shooting game, or the zombie game, but instead he pulled Peter over to ski-ball. He fed tokens into the machine, and a line of balls rolled down.

Wade started singing Dolly Parton’s "9 To 5", and threw a ball. It went into the 10,000 points slot. At first Peter thought it might have been a fluke, but the next two throws went into the same hole. 

In fact, Wade made all of the shots there except for the second to last throw, but that was only because he swore he saw a corgi out of the corner of his eye. A brief investigation showed that there was no corgi.

A little while later, they decided to take a breather. Well, Peter decided they should. Some chubby kid who Peter thought was adorable was hogging the zombie shooter game, and Deadpool had been seconds from pulling a knife on the child, so Peter dragged him away to get something to eat. 

Deadpool bought hot dogs and the biggest sodas he could get, and grumbled the whole time, still eyeing zombie game hogger. 

The thing was, once they got to a quiet table to eat, Peter lost his appetite.

They were alone in the corner. It was dark enough that most people wouldn’t be able to see anything going on at their table. And for some reason this made Peter tense. 

His neck would hurt later from how stiffly he was holding himself. It was times like these that Peter felt he was genuinely losing his mind.

It wasn’t that he thought Deadpool in particular would do something to him. He wanted to trust people, but there was something that wasn’t his spidey sense but felt just as visceral that told him they were a threat. It wasn’t a specific fear. Just an overwhelming feeling that made him tense up when Aunt May tried to hug him; that used to make his heart pound every time he stayed overnight at a friend’s house and it came time for bed. He didn’t think everyone was out to hurt him, but he was never quite sure they weren’t.

“Do you ever feel like you can’t trust people?”

Peter couldn’t see Deadpool’s eyes, but he could tell the man’s attention was on him. Peter played with the top of his soda cup. 

Peter was grateful for the quiet of the corner. He’d been more sensitive to sounds since the bite, but it had gotten even worse lately.

“All the time,” Deadpool said. “I mean between my paranoia, and White and Yellow’s paranoias I’m pretty sure most everyone’s out to get me most of the time.”

“Oh.”

Peter felt stupid. Deadpool had voices telling him he wasn’t safe. He had an actual legitimate mental illness. Peter was just paranoid, and he felt stupid because of it.

“Even now?” Peter asked.

Wade was playing with something in his hand. A glint of metal caught the light, and Peter realized it was a knife.

“White’s convinced the chubster over there blowing the heads off the undead is an agent. Yellow and I are fairly certain he’s just an annoying kid. Just because I’m fairly certain he’s not gonna try to shank me doesn’t mean I’m not wary though. I have a feeling your crazy and my crazy are very different though. What’s got you feeling unsafe?”

Peter played with the straw and it made an awful screeching noise against the plastic of the top of the cup.

“What’s eating you? Cause it’s definitely not me,” Wade teased, giving Peter’s foot a gentle kick.

It made Peter jump a little in his seat. He forced himself to take a slow breath and relax his muscles, but his heartbeat still felt too fast.

“It’s stupid,” Peter said.

He took a sip from his drink and focused on the cold sweet drink, the fizz in his mouth.

“If it’s so stupid, why’d you bring it up?”

Peter watched as a little kid ran by with a fist full of tickets trailing on the floor behind him.

“It’s not like it’s rational,” Peter said. “I know it’s not rational. It feels like there’s a little voice in my head sometimes, not like yours, but like my own head telling me that I can’t trust people? Whenever I’m alone with people I want to relax, but there’s this thing at the back of my mind...like I’m not safe.”

Wade nodded like he understood.

Peter wished Wade wouldn’t wear that stupid mask. He didn’t like knowing he was being watched without being able to see Wade’s eyes. It put him even more on edge.

“People are dicks,” Wade said. “I don’t blame you for not trusting them.”

Peter reached out to pull one of the hot dogs to him, but he didn’t eat it. He picked at the bun.

“Does that feeling ever go away?” Peter asked, unable to keep the hopefulness from creeping up.

Wade’s panda eyes looked back at him, and Peter could see the way his brows pulled, and his mouth turned down like he was frowning.

“I don’t know.”

As far as reassurances went, it wasn’t very reassuring, but Peter was grateful for the honesty. He was tired of empty platitudes. It didn’t help him for someone to say “you’ll feel better”, or “just give it time”. He knew time alone wouldn’t fix all of his problems, and although he appreciated when Ned used to tell him that his problems would go away, he was just not there yet. He was not at a place where he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. And reminding him that things could get better didn’t make Peter feel better, it just made him more discouraged that he still felt terrible.

Wade slapping a hand on the table snapped Peter out of his train of thought.

“I’m an expert at the claw machine,” Wade said.

Peter was grateful for the nonsequitur.

“Are you now?”

Wade nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Lemme show you.”

Wade picked up one of the hot dogs and then grabbed Peter’s arm in the other hand and pulled him away towards the machines. He spared the kid still hogging the zombie game a stuck out tongue and a muttered threat, but before the kid could start yelling for his mom, or it could come to blows, Wade continued on to the claw machines at the back.

The prizes in them looked like they hadn’t left the machine in decades. There was a furby sitting at the back with one lazy eye that Peter swore twitched. There was even a doodle bear in there, and Peter couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for the time when Harry bought him one for his birthday because he knew May and Ben couldn’t afford one.

Wade thrust the hot dog into Peter’s hand, and then dramatically stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles, shaking out his arms like he was a boxer preparing for a fight.

“Which one do you like?”

Peter eyed the stuffed animals dubiously. He considered the doodle bear, but then he saw a small bear in an Ironman suit outfit. He had always looked up to Ironman. He remembered when Ben bought him an Ironman mask and he wore it for two weeks straight until he lost it at the Stark Expo.

“The Ironman one,” Peter said, pointing it out.

He absently picked at the hot dog, taking a bite. It would be a waste to just toss it.

“Really, not the Captain America golden retriever, or the Bucky bear?”

Peter shook his head.

“I like Ironman,” Peter replied.

“Yeah, probably best not to disturb them. They look like they’re needing some alone time.”

Peter snorted. The Captain America dog was sprawled out on top of Bucky bear who was face-down in the pile of toys.

Wade put tokens in the slot and gave his hands one last shake before grabbing the joystick. He moved with such confidence that Peter was sure he was going to get the bear on the first try. The claw reached down and entirely missed the bear.

“Goddamnit!”

Wade put in more tokens and tried again. And missed again.

He tried again.

Wade was nearly through all of the tokens, and he was getting increasingly frustrated if his creative threats were any indication. At this point, Peter had finished the hot dog, and he was enjoying the spectacle, trying his hardest not to laugh at the variety of curses Wade was coming up with. At one point Peter was fairly certain he invented a new religion just to blaspheme the name of a new deity.

“Want some help there?” Peter asked from where he was leaning against the side of the machine, taking in the show.

“No. I’ve got this,” Wade said, focused on the claw reaching down.

“What was that you said about being an expert?” Peter quipped.

The claw reached down only to grab Captain America. Peter was certain it was going to fall out, but it made it all the way to the prize slot. Despite his prize, Wade whacked the side of the machine.

“Stupid, broken piece of shit. It’s rigged!”

Wade reached into his pocket only to come up empty. He must have used all of the tokens.

“We need more tokens.”

Wade turned away, presumably to get more, leaving behind his prize.

Peter hadn’t played the claw machine in years, but he had just enough tokens left, so he popped them in, and then started directing the claw over to the Ironman plush. Wade was probably right, the machine was rigged, but it couldn’t hurt to try. When it felt like it was in the right spot, he pressed the big red button, and watched as the claw came down.

Wade came back, another two bags full of tokens, and came up short when he saw Peter holding not just the Captain America dog, but also the Ironman bear, and a Spider-Man-themed pig.

“The claw grabbed two on accident,” Peter explained.

“What the shit? How did you do that?!”

Wade dropped his tokens to smack the machine. Before Wade could do any permanent damage to the claw machine, or himself, Peter offered him the Captain America and the Spider-Pig.

“You can have these if you want?”

Wade snatched up the Spider-pig and Peter saw his grin through the mask.

“Spidey!”

Wade squished the plushie to his cheek.

“I’m gonna sleep with him every night,” Wade said, securing the stuffed Spidey into his pocket.

Peter blushed at the image.

They ended up staying another hour or two using the new bags of tokens. Wade got more tickets at ski-ball. They made their way through nearly every machine, and finally got their chance at the zombie game. Wade complained the whole time about the sight on his gun being off, to which Peter pointed out it was a toy.

Hours passed, and it must have gotten dark, but Peter hardly noticed the time passing. He got caught up in the games and Wade’s constant stream of chatter. It was nice to not have to worry or really think. He could just play, and laugh at Wade’s stupid jokes.

Finally, they finished off the tokens and made their way to the front. Wade had a huge stack of tickets that Peter helped him carry. The employee at the front eyed the pile of tickets dubiously.

“Finally, I can get that Sailor Venus wand I’ve had my eye on,” Wade said excitedly.

The employee set the tickets on the scale and sighed.

“We’re all out up front, sir, I’d have to go to the back.” He sounded like that was the last thing he wanted to do. “We have the other wands up here though.”

Wade stared back at the employee.

The employee’s shoulders slumped impossibly further down.

“I’ll go get it, sir.”

Wade brightened.

“Excellent!”

Peter looked over the smaller prizes. Maybe he could get a couple candies or a keychain.

“It’s cool if you want me to leave you alone. Just let me know. You can toss the card away, lose my number, and tell me to fuck off. Say what you will about Deadpool, but I respect people’s consent.”

Wade had a way of saying things out of left field that threw Peter for a loop.

Peter thought they were having a good time. Today started out crappy between Jameson and the unfortunate coffee mishap, but it vastly improved when Wade convinced him to go to the arcade.

Was Wade checking to make sure Peter was comfortable with him, or was he just looking for an excuse to ditch Peter? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that to him.

Normally Peter would just let it lie. He’d let Wade extricate himself from the situation, and pretend everything was fine, but he couldn’t push it aside. He was angry.

“Why did you bring me here? Did you feel bad? Was it pity?”

Peter felt himself getting louder, and even with the worry of people staring at him, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Wade looked like he wanted to say something, but Peter cut him off before he could.

“If you were just going to ditch me, why bother hanging out with me? Was this your good deed for the day? You help out the pathetic guy you find on a rooftop, and then go back to your friends and tell them all about it?”

Peter felt embarrassed, and annoyed. It felt like his emotions were pulling him along and he was just along for the ride of crazy. He knew this would be something he felt embarrassed about later on, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Peter. That’s not – ”

“Now you’re too chicken to just tell me to leave? Don’t upset the crazy person or he might jump off a building. Something like that?” Peter continued.

Peter’s anger burned out quickly. Something about anger felt toxic in his body; it made his stomach turn, and left him feeling shaky. It had been so long since he’d felt real anger. Now that it was gone, he felt resigned.

“No. You know what? It’s fine. You don’t owe me anything.” Peter sighed.

The employee was coming back with Wade’s wand.

“ You go live your life, and I’m just gonna…”

Wade was briefly distracted by the employee, and Peter took the opportunity to leave.

“I’m gonna go,” Peter said mostly to himself, slipping out the front door.

His sweater was dry by now, and he slipped it on over his stained shirt as he walked. He hitched his bag further up on his shoulder and made his way home.

By the time he got home he’d already played through the interaction with Wade dozens of times in his head. He thought it all through and he felt bad. He blew up in Wade’s face, and the man had only been nice to him. He didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t Wade’s fault he didn’t want to see Peter anymore. Peter knew he could be a downer, and he had so many emotional issues he could understand why people didn’t want to deal with him. Wade would be better off never seeing Peter again.


	3. Spidey Meets Deadpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has met Wade. Now it's Spider-Man's turn to meet Deadpool.

Peter fully expected to never see Wade again. He should have known life was never that simple.

Peter was finishing up patrol for the night. It had been quiet so far, with only a few attempted muggings, and some guy trying to hold up a 7/11 with an exacto knife, which wasn’t dangerous so much as laughable. At least Peter got a hot dog out of the deal, although it was one of those crappy ones from the case, and the guy only gave him a half-off discount even though Peter had just saved him from a possibly lethal exacto knife encounter. 

He was finishing off the hot dog and walking back towards the alley he’d stashed his backpack in when he heard it.

“Please don’t do this. I can pay you. What are they paying you? I’ll double it.” The guy sounded desperate.

Peter shoved the rest of the hot dog into his mouth and rolled his mask back all the way down as he made his way toward the voice.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t afford me,” another voice said. “Besides, I don’t take money from perverts. No offense.” The voice sounded oddly familiar.

“Please don’t hurt me. God, please,” the first man pleaded.

Peter arrived at the mouth of the alley just as someone yelped.

“Seriously, just shut up. Usually I’m into the whole, you plead for your life, I point the gun, you piss yourself schtick, but god you’re pathetic.” The voice sounded oddly familiar.

Peter could just make out one man slumped against the alley wall, and another standing over him.

“Hey, fellas. How come I wasn’t invited to the party?” Peter called out.

The gun-wielding man spun around to face him, and as Peter approached he could finally make out who it was. The full-body red and black suit and panda-eyed mask was unmistakable.

“Deadpool.”

“Oh em gee!” Deadpool squealed. His hands flew up to cup his cheeks like he was overwhelmed with joy. It was an unsettling sight after seeing him threatening a man at gunpoint moments before.

“Spider-Man!” Deadpool shrieked. “I am your biggest fan.”

“Please, Spider-Man,” the man behind Deadpool stuttered. “Help me.”

Peter gave him a little salute as if to say, ‘I’ve got this, citizen’, and then stepped forward.

Deadpool didn’t seem bothered, and even when he lowered his hands, he didn’t point his gun at Peter. Peter’s spidey sense was quiet.

“Yeah, that’s a no-go on the saving thing, Mr. I-probably-drive-a-panel-van-and-smell-suspiciously-like-candy,” Deadpool said. “By the way, you should really look into shortening that name.”

“My name’s Doug,” the man Deadpool had been threatening said.

Deadpool aimed a kick at the man’s shin, and then turned back to Peter.

“Here’s the thing, Spidey. Can I call you Spidey? My name’s Deadpool, and I’m being paid to take Dick here, out. Not on a date, you know. I’m saving myself for a certain someone. You might know him. Big, hairy. He’s got butter knives sticking out of his hands. Anyway, Diego here is a bad guy. Like kidnapping children and selling them bad. So I’m sure you can understand why it’s best for everyone if I kill him. It’s the heroic thing to do.”

“I was acquitted,” Doug said, although even to Peter’s ears it sounded flimsy.

“Yeah, well, it’s easy to get off when you have the judge and the DA in your back pocket, isn’t it? Plus little Annette and Tommy, and all the others didn’t want to testify once you hired some of the best mercs to watch their families.”

“You can’t prove any of that,” Doug said, only digging a deeper hole for himself as far as Peter was concerned.

“Yeah well thankfully I’m not a court of law. I can decide you’re guilty all on my own. Although, side note, I’m kinda offended you didn’t try to hire me, I mean I would have turned you down and then gutted you like a fish, but you didn’t even try calling me. That hurts my feelings.”

Deadpool suddenly pointed his gun behind him without looking, and shot. Doug yelped. Peter saw Doug fall down mid-crawl at the mouth of the alley.

“You shot my fucking knee,” Doug whined.

“Yeah, well you’re lucky I only went for the knee,” Deadpool said.

“Is all of that true?” Peter asked.

Deadpool’s focus was back on him, his head to the side like a dog.

“Sure is,” Deadpool said. His tone was earnest. “I can show you the evidence if you want. There’s pictures of him.”

“No, I believe you,” Peter said, and he was surprised to find he did. It might have had something to do with the way Doug had been lying through his teeth.

“Okay then,” Deadpool said. “I’ll just whack this guy real quick and then you and I can go for celebratory tacos. I know this food truck a couple blocks over. They have a hot sauce that will burn your ass off.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Peter said.

“You’re right, better not risk the booty,” Deadpool said, cocking his gun.

Before Deadpool could fire the gun again, Peter webbed it out of his hand.

“Motherfricker!” Deadpool yelled.

He pulled out another gun, and Peter webbed that one away too. Then he webbed Deadpool’s feet to the ground for good measure.

“You’re seriously starting to piss me off, Webs.”

For the first time since approaching Deadpool, Peter felt his spidey senses tingle. It was such an odd contrast to the Deadpool he met on the roof; the one he went to the arcade with, that Peter was momentarily stunned. Just long enough for Deadpool to spirit a knife from somewhere and cut himself free.

Thankfully, Peter unfroze in time to web away the knife.

“Motherfucker!” Deadpool yelled.

He looked braced for a fight, but then sirens sounded, and they were too close. Deadpool looked back at the man he shot in the leg, the one trying desperately to drag himself away. Peter sent out a web, stopping the man’s retreat. If the man wasn’t guilty then he wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught by the cops. If what Deadpool said was true, the man was a predator. 

Peter kept a wary eye on Deadpool as he approached the man on the ground. He webbed up the man’s wound instead of getting up close to put pressure on it.

“I guess it’s your lucky day, shithead,” Deadpool said.

Before Peter could decide whether or not he should apprehend Deadpool, Deadpool pulled something from the pouches at his waist and tossed it toward Peter. Peter’s spidey sense flared a second too late, and the canister erupted into smoke, filling the alley.

Peter tried to cover his mouth as he blindly climbed the alley wall. His eyes burned, and by the time the smoke had cleared Deadpool was long gone. Peter was annoyed at himself for letting Deadpool get away. Although, even if he’d caught Deadpool, he wasn’t sure if he would have turned him in.

Peter pulled himself up onto the roof overlooking the alley to wait for the cops.

Deadpool’s threats must have been enough to scare Doug shitless, because when the cops arrived, he confessed to everything. Peter wondered if the kids the man hurt would read about his arrest, and what they’d feel when they did. Would they be relieved? Would it change anything at all? He liked to think so.


	4. That's Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter stops by the Bugle.

After the encounter with Deadpool, Peter needed answers. He tried a basic googling of Deadpool, and came up with a lot of wild stories, urban-legend type tales, about how so-and-so’s cousin or sister heard from a coworker that Deadpool once shot up a Chuck-e-Cheese, or slaughtered a beauty pageant. None of the stories were substantiated, and the most promising things Peter found were some social media pages presumably made by Deadpool himself advertising his services.

If Deadpool’s myspace was to be believed, he’d take care of your problems for a price. Also, he enjoyed long walks on the beach, and grenade launchers. It was difficult to tell if the myspace page was a joke, but there was a photo of the man himself in his suit, and there was a phone number listed.

Peter called the number. It rang. He chickened out before it could get to the second ring. After an hour or so he tried calling again. He got the answering machine: “You’ve reached the offices of Nelson and Murdo-shit wrong one. You’ve reached DP’s taxidermy and steakhouse. You kill ‘em we grill ‘em. If it’s one of the X-douches don’t bother leaving a message. If it’s Cable then congratulations on figuring out how to work your cell phone. Anyone else, leave a name and number, and we’ll talk slicing and dicing.”

There was no mistaking that the voice was Deadpool’s. Peter replayed the message once. It was a long, rambling thing, and it left an uncomfortable feeling in Peter’s stomach.

Peter’s didn’t usually go to the Bugle to get work done. He did most of his work in the field, taking photos, and occasionally he stopped in to sell photos. But lately he’d picked up a couple of stories to make some extra cash. The least he could do if he couldn’t visit May was send her some money to help out. The last time he saw her he remembered seeing bright red “past due” notices on her mail. Besides, the Bugle might have more information on Deadpool.

Today was one such day where he was at the Bugle to use their computers. His own computer was unreliable at best, and the last thing he needed was to get five-hundred words into a story on the underground lizard people conspiracy–besides having to finish the last two hundred words of a crappy piece like that–only to have his computer delete all his progress.

It was busy, and loud. The hustle and bustle was a bit overwhelming. Especially with the way his heightened senses had a tendency to fixate on the smallest sounds like the bubble of the coffee machine in the breakroom, or the shuffling of papers five desks down, because one of the op-ed people liked to get his papers stacked together just right before he stapled them.

Peter grabbed a coffee, and then got to work. Hopefully he could be out of here before lunch.

He was two coffees in, nearly jumping out of his skin, and nowhere near done with the piece when Betty Brant showed up with a new intern. The intern was a chipper-looking woman too bright-eyed to have been working in journalism long. Betty pointed out all the well-known writers, and the intern made suitable noises of awe and excitement. 

And then, the girl paused, and asked “Who’s that?” She sounded excited.

Peter tried to tune out the conversation, but it was just loud enough to draw his attention.

“He’s cute,” the girl added.

“That’s Peter,” Betty replied.

Peter felt the hair on his neck stand on end. If he didn’t know he was being watched before he certainly did now.

“What’s his story?” the intern asked.

Peter perked up a little, wondering what Betty would say. He knew eavesdropping wasn’t the best thing to do, but he couldn’t help but be curious. He wasn’t a regular here like a lot of people, so he hadn’t quite broken into any of the social circles. And he wasn’t a social butterfly anyway, so the only friend he really had here besides the night janitor, Carlos, was Betty. When he stopped in for coffee sometimes they chatted about their days, about her boyfriend who was in Nicaragua building schools, or her cat who suffered from various allergies and kidney problems. 

Betty was friends with everyone.

“He’s kind of a loner,” Betty said finally. Well, that wasn't exactly a glowing endorsement, although Peter supposed it wasn’t entirely untrue. “To be honest, none of us know him that well. He hasn’t made any friends here.”

That one stung. He’d thought that Betty was at least a friend.

“Like, trenchcoat, shoot up the place kind of a loner?” the intern teased.

“No, nothing like that,” Betty reassured her. “Peter’s just...weird. I’d steer clear of that one. Besides, I don’t think he really wants to get to know anyone. He seems happy alone.”

Betty led the intern on past the cubicles, and towards the break room now. If Peter focused he’d probably be able to hear what they were saying, but he’d heard enough. His eyes burned, but he was determined not to cry at work. That would feel too pathetic.

Instead, he went through his interactions with Betty in his head. He couldn’t remember a time he'd acted odd around her. Sure, he was a little socially awkward, but he’d thought their interactions had been nice. She seemed happy to talk to him, and he enjoyed her company.

It took everything in him to focus on finishing his story. He wanted to get out as soon as possible and go home. Peter printed out as many articles as he could on Deadpool, not bothering to read them just yet. He didn’t want to be here any longer than he needed to. When Betty said goodbye, he gave her a half-hearted wave.

Later, on the way home, he tried to remind himself that Betty was just one person. Just because she thought he was weird didn’t mean everyone hated him. It was hard to believe it, though, when he got to his apartment and the only mail he found were bills and junk mail.

Maybe it was better for everyone if he stayed alone.

He tossed the articles out. The Bugle wrote nonsense about Spider-Man, why would it be any different with Deadpool? He wasn’t likely to find anything helpful in them.

It wasn’t dark out. He didn’t usually patrol this early, but on nights like these, where the loneliness crept in, and he couldn’t stand being Peter any longer, he went out. With Spider-Man he knew where he stood. He knew who liked him and who wanted to string his guts up from the Statue of Liberty. Being Spider-Man was simpler than being Peter. Spider-Man had purpose. What did Peter ever do for the world?

Peter spent the next week throwing himself into patrolling. He wanted to spend as little time as possible being Peter. It left him feeling exhausted and overworked, but he couldn't stop.


	5. A Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is tired. Then he has an unexpected house guest.

Peter was having a bad day. He should get out of bed and do something. He really needed to at least eat breakfast, but he couldn’t find the energy. He was a prisoner in his mind. He felt like he was sitting there, deadweight, watching everything around him. He'd had days like this before. Usually he either pushed through or waited it out.

He called in sick even though he probably couldn’t afford to take the day off. He knew work meant he’d have to endure another lecture from Jameson, possibly with a few office supplies thrown in the general direction of his head, and he didn’t have the energy for that. He felt like utter crap. Although, perhaps it was more accurate to say he didn’t feel like much of anything. 

An odd numbness had taken over his body. Not a physical numbness, but like someone took his emotional dial from his usual level of anxiety and turned it all the way down to zero. Rationally he knew that should worry him, but the numbness had so totally encompassed his mind he didn’t care that he felt drugged. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

When he was in a better mental state sometimes a more rational voice that sounded  suspiciously like Aunt May told him that this kind of emotional numbness wasn’t normal; that it was a sign of serious mental health issues. But he didn’t have the money for therapy or medication. Besides, what if the medication didn’t even work because of his powers?

He was tempted to make a cup of coffee to see if caffeine might kick start his brain, but even that seemed like too much effort, so he stayed in his bed, where he’d burritoed himself up in his covers. He must have dozed off at some point because when he looked at the clock a few hours had passed.

Somewhere around one, he got up to pee. He should have felt thirsty or hungry by now, so he half-heartedly chugged some water from the faucet in the bathroom, and even though his stomach sounded hungry, he didn’t feel it. He laid down on the couch this time, because the bedroom was too far away, and then he dozed off again.

The stray cat that liked to visit him sometimes scratched at the window, but when Peter didn’t get up to let it in, it left.

He thought he heard his phone buzz, and he nudged it from where it was propped up on the arm of the couch, charging. It fell to the cushion, and he unlocked the screen to see a message from Wade. He’d never texted the man, but he’d programmed the number in. 

The message was just a string of emojis. He was too tired to decipher it, and he didn’t have the energy to text back, so he tossed the phone onto the coffee table.

He dragged the blanket that hung along the back of the couch down over himself and pressed the remote with his foot to turn on the tv. He didn’t care what was on. He just wanted to hear something other than his own breathing.

Someone knocked on the door. They knocked loudly then waited a second before knocking again. First it was “shave and a haircut”, and then they knocked out some long complicated rhythm like they were recreating a full song. Peter stayed on the couch and waited for them to leave. They’d have to give up eventually. It was probably just one of his neighbors. 

After a little while, the knocking stopped.

A few minutes later he heard knocking again, only this time it came from his window. That caught his attention. He looked over to see a familiar red and black suit, and Deadpool peering into his window, hand raised to knock again.

“Hey, Petey! Open up.”

Peter rolled over onto his back and sent Wade a questioning glance. Maybe Wade would just go away if Peter pretended not to be here. He rolled over so his back was to Wad.

“I can see you over on the couch,” Wade said. Well, there went that plan. “Is he ignoring us? I think he’s ignoring us,” Peter heard him say, but it was quieter, and he might not have heard it without his abilities.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Wade asked. “Wait, no, you’re right, we definitely saw him move.”

God, he really wasn’t going to leave, was he? Peter was too tired to deal with this right now; too tired to deal with anything, but what little he knew of Wade told him the man wouldn’t give up anytime soon.

Peter sighed, and hefted himself off the couch. He kept the blanket wrapped around himself as he made his way over to the window. When Wade saw Peter approaching he perked up. Before Peter could open the window Wade pushed it open and climbed inside.

“Wait, you could have opened that this whole time?” Peter asked. He wanted to be miffed, but he was too tired.

“Yeah, I mighta already jimmied it open. I just thought it would be rude to come in without your permission?” Wade said, even though that was what he had just done. “Yes, I realize that White,” Wade hissed quietly.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked, eyeing Wade who had one hand suspiciously tucked behind his back.

Wade perked up and brought his hand around to his front so Peter could see that he was holding a huge, grease-soaked paper bag.

“I brought tacos,” Wade said, holding open the bag and pushing it towards Peter.

Peter didn’t feel hungry.

“What for?” Peter asked, already turning around to go lay back down on the couch. Even standing felt like it took too much effort. “I was a dick to you last time.”

Peter felt terribly for how they’d left things. He’d honestly expected to never hear from Wade again, at least not as Peter.

He heard Wade follow him, and watched the man plop down on the floor beside the couch. Peter pulled the blanket even tighter around himself and watched with dull eyes as Wade set the greasy bag on the coffee table. It was probably going to leave a stain, but Peter didn’t care.

“They’re ‘thank you’ tacos!”

“For what?”

“Hanging out with me,” Wade said, like it was the most obvious explanation.

Peter raised a brow, but stayed silent.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not anyone’s favorite person. I’m not braiding friendship bracelets at camp, and swapping them with Suzie. No one’s friending me on Facebook.” 

“Is anyone on Facebook anymore?” Peter mused.

Wade plucked at something on his suit like he was pulling at a loose thread. 

“People don’t like being around me. I talk too much, and I’m too violent. Most people barely tolerate me.”

He must have been joking. Wade talked a lot sure, but he was funny, and interesting. Peter couldn’t imagine anyone not liking the man.

“I know, right? How could anyone not like all of this?” Wade asked, gesturing to himself. “But believe me, even Wolvie can resist these charms. Anyway, what I’m trying to say before we both die from drowning in all these feels is that I enjoyed hanging out with you.” Wade physically shuddered, as though the thought of talking about feelings was making him ill.

Peter wanted to say he liked Wade’s company too, but he couldn’t get the words out. It was like his throat was stopped up.

“And I think there was some miscommunication the other day,” Wade continued. “I was under the impression we were having a good time. We played with balls, and I didn’t gut that kid.”

Peter had been enjoying himself too.

“And then this new friend of mine goes off about me not wanting him around. Which is ridiculous, because this new friend...we’ll call him Beter.”

Peter couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Wade looked pleased with himself.

“Beter is this great, funny guy. And he actually puts up with my shit. He listens to me talk and doesn’t threaten to cut my tongue off or anything. A real swell guy.” Peter made a mental note to talk to Wade about his standards for “real swell” being too low.

It was odd to hear someone describe him like this. He was so used to being that quiet guy who was nobody’s first choice for a friend. “That’s just Peter,” Betty had said. Peter wasn’t someone people made friends with, at least not best friends. He was fine for a chat in the elevator before work, or to show pictures of your new cat to, but people didn’t want to see him outside of work. He was too distant, and socially awkward for public consumption. But here was Wade describing him like he was the ideal bff.

“Someone I could see being besties with,” Wade continued. “And he’s got a great ass to boot. But somehow he’s got even lower self-esteem than me, or maybe he was taking crazy pills, because he actually thought I wanted to ditch him.”

Finally, Peter brought himself to meet Wade’s eyes – well, the eyes of his mask.

“So, I figure maybe he just needs me to tell him outright. I wanna be friends.”

Wade bounced in place suddenly, and started slapping at his pockets like he was trying to whack at a bee.

“Oh! Oh! I got us something too!”

He pulled out something from his pocket, and when he opened up his hand and held it out to Peter, Peter saw a bright red heart charm. It was split down the middle with one half marked “Best”, and the other “Friends”. Each charm was attached to a chain.

“I got them with the rest of our tickets,” Wade said.

For the first time since he practically broke into Peter’s place, he sounded shy.

“What do you say?”

Wade looked so earnest, and even though Peter knew he shouldn’t drag Wade into his mess of a life, he couldn’t help but want to be the man’s friend. Wade had this magnetic personality that made Peter feel good around him. He hadn’t had that for quite some time. For once, he wanted to be selfish; do something just because it would make him happy.

Peter reached out and hesitantly grabbed the “Friends” necklace. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it when Wade squealed in excitement.

“No take backsies!” Wade declared, rushing to put his necklace around his own neck.

After Peter accepted the necklace and the tacos, Wade seemed to take it as an invitation to fully settle in. He pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. Otherwise, he kept his full suit and mask on, gloves and all. Peter made a face when Wade licked the hot sauce off his gloves.

Wade switched the channel to some terrible reality tv show, but Peter was too tired to argue. Wade kept up a constant stream of comments and criticisms for the people on screen in between tacos. Wade polished off the first dozen tacos on his own when trying to push it on Peter didn’t work

Peter had almost nodded off again when Wade nudged him.

“Are you sick? Is that what this is? That’s a thing that happens to other people right?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said.

Wade made a hmm kind of noise and looked at Peter.

“I feel kinda...not all here?” Peter continued, feeling a little awkward with Wade staring at him. He hadn’t known the man very long, but it felt odd for Wade to be so quiet and serious. “Not like I’m floating. More like I’m being pressed down, and everything’s too heavy and I feel...slow.”

“You never went in, did you?” Wade asked.

Peter looked up and stared at Wade dully.

“Where?”

“That first night. When I dropped you off at the hospital. You never went in.”

“Yes I did, you saw me,” Peter said, defensively. Wade must have seen the lie on his face.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. What’d you do, just wait for me to leave before booking it?” 

That was exactly what happened.

Wade sounded angry, and Peter found himself getting defensive. What business was it of his what Peter did?

“So? Why do you care?” Peter asked. He knew he sounded petulant, but he didn’t like the implication that he was some kid that needed taking care of. “I had it taken care of. I was fine.”

“Fine. Right. That’s why you were up on a rooftop, alone, at night, doing your best Karl Wallenda impression.”

“I don’t do hospitals,” Peter said finally. There was no way to explain how he couldn’t go to hospitals because of his mutation, so he hoped Wade just took it for discomfort or a phobia.

This seemed to make Wade back off. Peter saw his shoulders drop.

“Yeah, me neither,” Wade said. 

Peter didn’t quite know what to do with Wade’s quick change in mood.

Wade reached out to grab a second taco, taking a bite from the one already in his hand. He shoved the wrapped taco towards Peter’s chest.

“Eat,” Wade commanded.

Peter’s hands came up reflexively to grab the taco. And, because he didn’t know what else to do and he was fairly certain if he tried to argue Wade might start force-feeding him, he unwrapped it and took a bite. 

The spiciness of the taco sent a jolt across his tongue, and he found that the sensation was kind of nice. He still felt floaty, but now his tongue was burning.

“How do you feel about Buffy?” Peter asked, already reaching out to grab the remote.

“Baby boy, the only superhero I like more is Spider-Man. I loves me some nineties feminist heroes.”

Peter queued up an episode.

They watched for hours. Wade handed Peter a new taco each time he finished until the bag was empty. All the while, Wade stayed on the floor even though he could have asked Peter to move to make room for him on the couch. Peter couldn’t tell if he was being respectful of Peter’s space or if he just wanted to sit on the floor.

Even though he’d spent most of the day sleeping already, he was still tired. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the tv, and Wade arguing with the tv.

Peter had the sudden urge to reach out and touch Wade.

“Thank you,” Peter said softly.

Before he could overthink it, Peter reached out and put his hand on Wade’s shoulder. The man turned to him, sending him a questioning look.

Peter fell asleep with his hand on Wade’s shoulder, and a warm weight over his hand.


	6. Explosions Hurt a Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spidey gets a teeny bit blown up. Deadpool comes to the rescue!

Everything was dark and warm. Peter hurt all over. It took a couple tries to open his eyes, and when he did at first all he saw was orange. He worried he’d damaged his eyes, but when they focused he realized he was seeing a fire burning nearby. 

He pushed himself up into a standing position. It took a couple of tries. He was wobbly, and his leg hurt. It really hurt. Usually he had a high pain tolerance, but it took everything in him not to scream. 

He looked down to see something sticking out of his leg. There was a piece of metal rebar going through his thigh. It made his stomach churn, so he looked away, because he really didn’t need to be dealing with vomit on top of the pain. 

He needed to focus on getting upright and moving. Explosions were loud, and they usually brought the cops. The last thing he needed was a run-in with the boys in blue while he was like this.

Peter ended up stumbling away from the scene, trying to not look like he was stumbling. The cops and firefighters would have to take over now. Peter might be stubborn, but he knew when he was beat. Besides, the explosion seemed to be an accident, so he wouldn’t be of much use. A woman walked up to him, and he saw her lips move, but he couldn’t hear her. She put her hand on his arm, and she might have tried to ask him if he was okay, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“I’m fine,” he said. He wasn’t sure if his voice was too loud.

Before she could protest, he shot out a web. His leg protested at the movement, but he yanked on the web, and pulled himself away. He needed to get to safety.

Somehow he made his way to an alley a couple of blocks away. It would have been safer to go up to the rooftops, but he didn’t think he’d be able to climb. Even just swinging aggravated his leg too much. 

He leaned back against the alley wall, and tried to catch his breath. 

“I don’t feel good,” Peter said aloud. He felt the vibration of his voice, but still couldn’t hear it. 

There was a hunk of metal in his leg, that he probably needed to take care of, but staring too long at it made the world go all wobbly, so he didn’t look at it again. He couldn’t tell if it was because all of his senses were on edge, but somehow the pain in his leg had gone from a dull roar up to one of the worst pains he’d experienced. Swinging around probably hadn’t helped either.

“Okay, what else hurts.” Usually talking aloud comforted him, but right now it served as a reminder that he still couldn’t hear.

It hurt to breathe. His ribs were at the very least bruised from being thrown by the blast, maybe cracked, but he chose to be hopeful. His head was a little banged up, but thankfully he didn’t think he had a concussion, and he had plenty of experience to draw from. He had some minor burns, scrapes, and bruises. Then there was the glass and rubble he knew was stuck in his wounds. That would be fun to clean out later.

Essentially, everything hurt. On a scale from one to not good, things were very not good.

Peter took a slow deep breath. It hurt, but he knew it was better for his lungs if they were cracked to inflate them fully.

Mentally, Peter went through his options. A hospital was right out. He couldn’t afford the risk to his identity, not to mention he couldn’t let them get ahold of any information about his mutation.

The Tower was a no-go for the same reasons.

That just left his apartment. All he needed to do was stay conscious long enough to get there. Then he could patch himself up, and pass out covered in arnica and filled with whatever painkillers he had in his medicine cabinet. 

His eardrums were still busted. The thought of being injured and missing one of his senses should have made him more panicky, but at the moment he was too focused on getting home, and honestly he was too foggy and floaty to properly worry. Maybe he was in shock. Just another thing to add to the list.

He blamed his current state for the lack of warning from his spidey senses. It was only when a loud voice pierced through his skull that he realized he wasn’t as alone in the alley as he thought he was. He also realized hearing had come back. He heard sirens in the background, and not distant enough shouting. The rapid change from complete silence to so much noise in such a short time made his head swim.

“Websy!” 

Peter winced.

He turned to see the source of the noise, but the world world went wobbly. He could just make out a red figure approaching.

“Geez, Spidey. You don’t look so good.”

Peter’s vision was getting hazier. He really didn’t want to pass out right now. He couldn’t afford to be unconscious out in the open, he needed to get somewhere safe first.

“Are you okay? Okay, stupid question. You’ve got rebar all up in you and not in the fun way. Are you actively dying?”

Peter saw Deadpool’s masked face right in front of him suddenly, the eyes scrunched up like he was crinkling his brows. Peter tried to lift up his hand to shoot a web. The motion wrenched his busted ribs, and he might have sobbed, but it was difficult to tell with the sudden ringing in his ears.

He knew Wade, but Deadpool was still a bit of an unknown. And Deadpool probably wouldn’t hurt Peter, but what would he do to Spider-Man?

“Hey, Spidey. Are you alright?”

Everything went dark.

Peter had been half awake for a little while, and he could tell that someone was watching him, but his spidey sense only buzzed in a being stared at kind of way, not in an ‘about to be chopped up into little pieces’ kind of way, so he decided to assume they meant no harm.

His mask was still in place, save for where it was rolled up to uncover his mouth.

“You awake?”

Peter reluctantly opened his eyes after something prodded at him, only to see Deadpool’s mask uncomfortably close to his face.

Peter groaned.

“You’re alive!” Deadpool yelled.

Peter winced at the volume and tried to retreat back into the couch, but there wasn’t far to go. Deadpool was sitting on the coffee table beside the couch, leaning forward to look at Peter.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Deadpool whispered. “Just got excited. Idiot.” He muttered the last part over his shoulder, which meant whatever he said was probably for the boxes.

Peter tried shifting on the couch but every new position he tried left him feeling a new kind of sore. Finally, he just gave up.

“Where ‘m I?”

“My place,” Deadpool said. “Well, one of them. I wasn’t able to get much out of you, but you kept saying no hospitals. I figured it was probably because the whole mutant blood slash secret identity thing, so I told you I’d take you to Stark, and then you kicked up a fuss about that too. You nearly kicked me across the street, which was hot and impressive bee-tee-dubs.”

Peter had a vague recollection of getting upset, and of kicking something. It had sounded a lot like someone being kicked across an alley. He winced at the knowledge that he’d hurt the man while he’d tried to help Peter.

“Sorry,” Peter said softly.

Deadpool waved him off.

“No biggie. Once I popped my hip back into place everything was fine. Then I brought you back to La Casa de Deadpool. No wait, El Casa de Deadpool? Casa del Deadpool?”

Peter felt his stomach turn at the mental image of Wade having to pop his own hip back in. He tried so hard to control his strength, but he’d been too out of it to pull his punches.

“Anyway, I patched you up as much as I could. I’m not a doctor or anything, but I do have a little training from Special Forces and I sorta remember some of it. I got your little spidey butt all bandaged up and tucked into bed–I even put down my cleanest sheets, because who knows what was all over the other ones, probably blood, definitely some other bodily fluids.”

Peter didn’t want to imagine what Wade’s idea of his “cleanest sheets” was.

“It looks like you’ve got a little bit of a healing factor,” Wade said, giving Peter a curious look.

That was something the newspapers and tabloids didn’t know for sure. The extent of Spider-Man’s powers were a mystery, so people had taken to wildly speculating about what he could do. The best Peter had heard was that he had eight legs hidden under the suit.

“Yeah. It’s not as good as yours though,” Peter confirmed.

Peter felt something nudge at his lips. At which point he realized he must have closed his eyes again. Whatever it was that was poking at his face smelled like leather. He opened his eyes to see a gloved hand way too close to his face.

“Here, take this for the pain,” Wade said. “I know you’ve got a healing factor but this stuff is guaranteed to knock the Hulk on his ass, so it should have you riding unicorns.”

Peter debated the merits of taking strange pills from trained killers in full-body leather, but finally decided that waking up in a bathtub missing his kidneys was a risk he was willing to take if it meant not having his whole body scream in pain. Besides, he knew Wade.

Before Peter could grab the pills, Wade was pushing them against his lips and Peter opened on reflex. Similarly, Wade pushed the water bottle to Peter’s mouth, leaving Peter sputtering and struggling to swallow the water.

“It’s special codeine. I have all the good stuff, baby boy,” Wade said, answering Peter’s unasked question.

He patted Peter’s head a little roughly. Peter imagined it was how he’d pet a dog. Peter couldn’t help but lean into the sensation.

His leg still hurt, but Wade had wrapped it up well. 

“I think half-asleep Spidey is my favorite Spidey,” Wade commented.

“Why? Cause I don’t talk much?” Peter asked.

“Because you’re a smol, sleepy, cinnamon roll,” Wade said.

The couch looked ratty, but it was oddly comfortable. He could fall asleep like this. In fact, he probably would. 

“Not sleepy,” Peter mumbled, “‘m drugged.” 

Peter couldn’t tell if it was a testament to how strong the pills were, or how quickly his body could break them down, but he was already feeling dopey.

“Potato, potato.”

“You said those both the same way,” Peter tried to say, but he could already feel himself slipping away.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. He hadn’t gotten much sleep that week, and on top of that now his body had to repair itself.

“I shouldn’t be sleeping again. I need to get home,” Peter said, trying to sit up.

His arms were too wobbly, and he collapsed back into the couch.

“I’ve got work to do,” Peter mumbled, thinking to the photos he needed to sift through and edit.

The pain was leaving, and the painkillers didn’t just take away the pain, they made him feel like he was on a cloud. 

“Easy there, Spidey,” Wade said.

He wobbled in Peter’s vision. Everything was going dark like someone was dimming the lights. Peter felt warm and floaty. The last thing he felt was something petting his head.

When Peter woke up, Deadpool was gone. There was a bag on the coffee table beside his head marked “Spidey babe”, and in it Deadpool seemed to have put a complete care package. There were bandages, more pain meds, candy, and a couple fashion magazines. It was an odd sort of get well package, but it made Peter smile.

At some point, while he’d been unconscious, Wade had administered more “medical care”, because Peter was absolutely covered in Hello Kitty band-aids. Some of them were over the suit.

Peter was still sore, but nothing he couldn’t handle, so he decided to save the pills for a rainy day. He searched around for a pen and paper, but was only able to find a taco bell receipt and some crayons. He stuck the note on the coffee table, where he hoped Deadpool would find it. It simply said: “Thanks for the save –Spidey”.

When he got home, Peter fed the cat that sometimes visited his windowsill. He’d taken to calling it “Kitty” because he wasn’t creative enough or invested enough in it to really name it. 

He pulled off the rest of his ragged Spidey uniform and tucked himself into bed. He pulled out the magazine Deadpool gave him and fell asleep reading tips about how to “please your man”. It was only just before he nodded off that he noticed the sparkly pink nail polish Deadpool put on his nails while he’d been unconscious.

“Whaddya think of this color, Kitty?” he slurred.

Kitty kept eating her food, but she offered him a chirping noise.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	7. Patrolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a chance to thank Deadpool. They patrol together.

It was nearly a week before Peter was healed up and free enough from work to go patrolling again. The night was fairly boring, with the usual purse-snatchers and low-lifes populating the streets, waiting for Spidey to set them straight.

Midway through patrol Peter took a breather on a rooftop. Sometimes he liked to go way up high and just look down at the city. Some people looked at stars, others liked the ocean, but Peter liked the city. It made him feel small, but not in a bad way.

His spidey sense gave him a little warning, and he looked over to see a figure pulling themselves up onto the roof. The red and black leather was unmistakable.

“You’re still here,” Deadpool said excitedly. “I worried you might see me coming.”

“Why would I leave if I saw you coming?”

“Isn’t that in the superhero handbook somewhere? Help every grandma you see cross the street, kiss baby’s heads, and always avoid Deadpool?”

Peter frowned.

“Oh!” Deadpool’s sudden yell derailed Peter’s line of thinking. “I brought food.”

The mouth-watering smell in the air suddenly made sense. Peter thought it had been the food carts nearby.

Deadpool settled himself onto the ledge beside Peter and started unpacking a huge bag of food. Before Peter could protest, Deadpool tossed a burrito his way. Peter snatched it out of the air before it could fall. Deadpool ignored him in favor of eating his taco, so Peter unwrapped his food and took a bite.

“Holy moly that’s good,” Peter said through a mouthful of food.

Deadpool continued to eat, all the while regaling Peter with a story of how he saved the owner of the food truck he’d bought the food from. Apparently it involved a whaling harpoon and a judicious application of hot sauce.

When Peter finished his burrito, Deadpool put another in his hands.

When Deadpool finished his story, Peter told him one about a fight he’d had with electro. They traded stories back and forth. It was odd having company on a patrol night like this, but Peter realized it was also refreshing. He hadn’t gotten to just chat with someone about Spidey stuff in a long time.

“Thank you,” Peter said, unwrapping another burrito.

Deadpool, who’d been telling Peter about the time he’d gone undercover as a stripper to take down a notorious mob boss, nearly fell off the edge of the building. Peter had to reach out to steady him.

“For what?”

“For helping me out the other night,” Peter said, gesturing to his leg. “I wouldn’t have been able to get home, and it could have been really bad if someone dangerous found me.”

“Someone...dangerous,” Deadpool repeated, sounding confused. “What does he think I am?” Deadpool muttered off to the side. Peter figured that comment wasn’t meant for him, so he ignored it.

“I appreciate it. Especially considering we didn’t get off on the best foot. I’m not saying I agree with your methods.” Peter thought back to Deadpool standing over the man in the alley, ready to put a bullet between his eyes. Peter shuddered. “But I understand you’re just trying to do the right thing. I was...wrong.”

It was difficult to admit his mistake, but it felt right.

“I think I’m having a stroke,” Deadpool said.

He sounded so serious that for a second Peter forgot about his immortality.

“Are you okay?” Peter reached out toward Deadpool who was clutching his chest like his heart was exploding.

“This is the second time someone’s thanked me this week,” Deadpool said.

Peter laughed, and then scoffed, and lightly smacked Deadpool’s arm. It was odd how comfortable he was with Deadpool. He didn’t usually initiate casual contact like this.

“Don’t scare me like that. I thought something was really wrong.”

Peter huffed. He crumpled up the burrito wrapper and tucked it into a secret pocket in his suit to throw away later.

Deadpool stopped clutching his chest, but he still looked gobsmacked.

Before Peter could overthink it, he hopped up. He felt more confident standing up like this, without Deadpool looming over him.

“If you’re gonna patrol with me we’re gonna need some ground rules,” Peter said, midway through another burrito.

Deadpool’s mask was still half rolled up, so Peter could see the way his mouth dropped open.

“Wait, patrol?” Peter saw his eyes narrow. “Did the Avengers put you up to this? Or Logan. That dick, he’s trying to get back at me for shaving his sideburns that one time, isn’t he?”

“What? No. Who would do that?”

“I think I just said I was the one who shaved him.”

“No not that. Who would trick someone like that?”

Deadpool ignored the question.

“Is this some kind of burrito obligation? You feel like you have to pay me back for the food?”

“In two nights I’ll see you on this roof at midnight,” Peter said. “I’m buying the food next time.”

Before Deadpool could protest, Peter stood and shot out a web.

“If you’re not there, I’ll assume you don’t want to patrol, but if you show up, don’t bring weapons.”

Peter swung away before Deadpool could give a response.

  
  


Patrolling two nights later went about how Peter expected. Wade arrived on time, but apparently he’d missed the instruction about the weapons. Peter had to swing them back to Wade’s to stash the weapons, save for the katanas, after Wade promised to use them for non-lethal takedowns only. It took a lot of convincing, and at one point it sounded like Wade was getting choked up at having to leave “Martha”, a huge gun that Peter still wasn’t sure where Wade could have stashed it on his person.

“Let’s go take down some bad guys!” Wade said, rubbing his hands together.

“Non-lethally.”

Wade sighed.

“Let’s go non-lethally take down some bad guys.”

There was definitely a learning curve on patrol.

Right away, Peter’s spidey sense took them to a corner store – a little mom and pop shop – where a man in a ski mask was holding up the place. Peter webbed away the gun, but before he could secure the guy, Wade was on him. He tossed the robber onto the counter and started wailing on him.

The criminal’s nose made a horrible crunch, and blood started to pour down his face, soaking the ski mask. Still, Wade kept hitting him, keeping up a commentary about how robbery was bad. Wade briefly looked up from his pummelling to ask the woman at the counter if she was okay.

Peter pulled Wade’s hands off of the man, gave him a nudge aside, and webbed the robber down.

“He’s down, DP,” Peter assured him. “How about you call the police?”

“Sure thing, Webs.”

Wade seemed delighted to have another task to take care of.

While Wade took care of calling the cops, Peter made sure the robber was secure, and not going to bleed out, before he checked on the woman at the counter who was shaken, but thankfully fine.

“Come on, Pool, let’s go,” Peter said, directing Wade out of the store, so they would be gone before the cops showed up.

“Good day, citizens,” Wade said, saluting the woman at the counter, and the various people huddled in the aisles.

Once they were outside, Peter’s gut instinct was to scold Wade, but Peter stopped himself. He’d had trouble pulling his punches when he started out too. Even though Wade was older and had been working for a long time, he was new to this whole hero thing. Peter didn’t want to discourage him before he’d really started.

Peter webbed them up onto a roof across the street so they could keep an eye on the situation, and also debrief a little.

“How’d I do?” Wade asked, bouncing on his feet.

“Well, you stopped the bad guy I guess,” Peter said carefully. “And you did a good job of calling the cops.”

Wade’s shoulders slumped.

“Where’s the ‘but’?”

“You did a good job, but there’s some stuff we can work on.”

Wade scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground. Peter couldn’t help but picture him as a kid being scolded.

“Do I need a catchphrase or something? Like, ‘for truth, justice, and the American way’? Because that might be a dealbreaker.”

Peter shook his head.

“No. No catchphrase.”

Wade still looked like he was watching for the sword to fall, so Peter gave his shoulder a gentle nudge.

“Maybe throw in some puns,” Peter teased.

Wade still looked tense.

“You could be...gentler with the bad guys.”

“Gentler?”

“Gentler.”

“But they’re bad guys,” Wade said, scratching at the side of his head. “That guy would have shot Gina’s head off.” Wade gestured towards the store where the cops were setting up a perimeter. 

“Who’s Gina?”

“The lady at the counter,” Wade said.

Peter looked down to see the robber being carried out of the store on a stretcher, his neck in a brace, and his uncovered face swollen with bruises.

“Be that as it may, it’s not our job to punish people. We don’t decide what they do or don’t deserve. That’s someone else’s job. We stop criminals so they can face justice.”

Wade turned to look at the scene down below.

“What’s the difference?” He sounded genuinely confused.

Peter had a rush of affection for May, Ben, and all of the people who had ever taught him about right and wrong.

“We don’t hurt criminals, at least not on purpose. We subdue them as painlessly as possible, and then call the cops so the bad guys can have proper trials.”

“That’s so stupid though!” Wade threw up his hands in annoyance. “How many of these guys get off, or bribe the cops? It’s simpler to just take justice in your own hands.”

Peter had wrestled with the same issue for years. When he first started out, he’d been naive and thought that the cops came and that was that. The first time he saw a repeat offender back on the streets, he was shocked. The man had been a killer, but he also had mob connections, so he was back out not even a week after being locked up.

Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t been tempted to take justice into his own hands at that point. He followed the man around for days, watching him meet with other unsavory characters, and plan unsavory things. Peter took photos of the man’s dealings, and documented it all. 

In the end though, May changed his mind. He knew that if May ever learned he’d killed a man, she wouldn’t look at him the same way. And honestly, he wouldn’t look at himself the same way again either.

He turned in all of his evidence anonymously to the police, and eventually the mob wasn’t able to cover the man anymore.

“We can’t just do whatever we want. These powers we have are a privilege, and if we tried to control the whole system, we’d be abusing them. With power comes responsibility,” Peter said.

“You said it wrong,” Wade said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Wade muttered, crossing his arms.

Peter and Wade watched as the robber down on the street was taken away, and Gina and the customers were all checked over by paramedics.

“This hero gig is a real bummer,” Wade complained.

“Hey.” Peter nudged his shoulder against Wade’s. “You saved Gina, right?”

Peter saw the hint of a smile pull at Wade’s mask.

“We really can’t even beat on the bad guys?”

“Only a little,” Peter said with a grin.

Peter heard a scream from a few streets over, and tugged Wade away from the edge of the roof.

“Come on.”

Through the course of the night, Peter learned Wade also had some work to do on his “bedside manner” with people they saved. He waved at the man they just saved with a knife sticking out of his arm. The man in question took one look at the knife and the blood and passed out. Peter caught him just in time.

“You guys make it look so easy,” Deadpool said, dejectedly.

They were reaching the end of patrol and so far five people had run away screaming as soon as they saw Deadpool and that didn’t include the bad guys that practically (or did) wet their pants when faced with the merc.

“It’ll take time. You made a name for yourself already, so it’ll take a little while to adjust how people see you,” Peter assured him.

He could tell it wasn’t what Deadpool wanted to hear.

“Did I ever tell you the time I knocked some guy out trying to get into his own car?” Peter asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Wade perked up, and if it meant embarrassing himself, Peter didn’t mind telling Wade some of his earlier mishaps on patrol.

Peter made sure to praise Wade every time he knocked a bad guy out or helped a civilian.

By the end of the night, Wade seemed tired, but much less nervous than before. And when they parted ways, they agreed to meet up again the next time Peter patrolled. 

Peter went to sleep with a smile on his face, tired and happy from patrolling with Deadpool. Maybe he could make this team-up thing work after all.


	8. The Potts Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes looking for some mental health help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter.

Peter didn’t know why he even came here. He’d looked up support groups in the area and found this place: the Potts Survivors Foundation. After researching extensively on the internet, Peter found that “survivor” was a prettied up way of saying victim. He wasn’t sure how he felt about calling himself either of those things.

The Center was easy to get to by bus, and it even had a support group specifically for male survivors, but he couldn’t bring himself to go. He didn’t want to be seen like that. He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach talking about what happened to him, or hearing other people’s stories.

There was a voice in his head that insisted he didn’t need to go here. He’d been dealing with it on his own for years. But there was another part of him that knew he hadn't actually been dealing with what happened. Everything had fallen apart lately. He couldn’t sleep much, and when he did it was restless and left him feeling even worse than before. The nightmares were back, so he downed crappy instant coffee after crappy instant coffee to avoid his subconscious.

And then there was the food. He couldn’t afford much in the way of groceries on a good day, but lately that hadn’t been the problem. He just didn’t get hungry much anymore. His body didn’t feel real. Sometimes nothing felt real, and he was floating, and he thought that maybe the boundaries between himself and everything else were gone. It was difficult to care when nothing felt real. And then he’d come back to himself and it was like everything snapped back into focus.

He went back and forth between apathy and extreme heart-pounding anxiety. He knew he couldn’t go on like this. He needed serious help, but he couldn’t quite make it happen. There was only so much he could do on his own, and he had a mental block when it came to looking for professional help. He’d filled out mental health tests online, looked up self-help blogs, and read articles on dealing with trauma, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to talk to someone.

Peter felt pathetic. It felt like everything in his life up to this point was tainted by what Skip did to him. Even going to get help, he felt haunted by the past.

Peter put his hand on the cold handle of the door to the Potts Survivors Foundation, took a deep breath, and pushed. Right away his heart rate kicked up a notch. He saw a stand in the lobby on the front desk with pamphlets. They were in soothing pastel colors with soft fonts saying hopeful words like “happiness”, “community”, and “recovery”.

He looked over to see the receptionist looking at him with a soft smile. Everything about this place was soft.

A paranoid voice at the back of his mind told him she could see what happened, that she knew what he’d done. His chest felt tight. 

He couldn’t do it. He reached out and grabbed a pamphlet at random before making a beeline for the door and leaving.

Peter waited out the panic attack around the corner before making his way home, trying his best to forget all about the paper he’d shoved into his back pocket.


	9. A Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade takes Peter out dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gird thy loins for sexy Wade in a dress!!!

“That’s it!” Wade yelled suddenly, making Peter jump from where he was cocooned in a pile of blankets on the couch.

“Jesus christ, Wade. Don’t do that!” Peter yelled.

“This is sad.”

“What is?” Peter asked, eyeing the playstation longingly. He was too lazy to get up and turn it on though, and then he’d have to turn on the tv, and put in a game. It was all just too much work.

“It’s Friday night, and we’re in my shithole of an apartment in our jim-jams like we’re Gladys and Ronald Wilson, a seventy plus couple, turning in for the night to catch Bones and waiting for sweet lady death to take us.” Wade paused, and then nodded excitedly. “That’s right, we should do that! Marshmallow would love him.”

“Why do we have your last name in this scenario?” Peter asked, ignoring the rest of the ramble. He figured Wade would get to the point eventually. The trick was to let him finish out his thought.

“You’re right. That’s sexist. We can be Galadriel and Rupert Parker.”

“I thought I was Gladys--you know what, nevermind,” Peter said, watching as Wade continued to excitedly talk to himself about the merits of this ‘Marshmallow’ person meeting Peter. 

Peter was fairly certain he said something about dressing Peter up like a doll, but to be fair Peter wasn’t fully paying attention. He felt cozy and lazy.

“So, what do you say, Petey?” Wade said, turning to Peter.

It took Peter a moment to catch up with the situation.

“Dancing?” Peter knew he sounded like he was about to be taken before a firing squad. 

It wasn’t that he hated the idea of going dancing, it actually sounded fun. It was more the reality of going out that sounded difficult. He was so comfy, and once he got the motivation he knew he could get up and get a game going on the playstation. He just needed a little more time.

“Dancing,” Wade said, doing jazz hands.

Peter gave the gaming console one last longing look before he looked up at the excited bouncing man who was now shaking his butt and singing Rihanna softly to himself. 

Well, shit, Peter couldn’t deny him now.

“Sure.”

Wade squealed in excitement, and suddenly he was in front of Peter, dragging him up off the couch and consequently from his warm blanket burrito. Peter made a faint noise of distress, but let himself be dragged over to the bedroom. He managed to snag one of the blankets as he went, and when they got to the bed, he plopped himself down and wrapped himself back up.

Wade walked around the room, sifting through the mess on the floor–a mix of clothes and various, hopefully empty, guns.

“Where did I put it?” Wade said absently. “The last time I wore it must have been…” he trailed off. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“What are you looking for?” Peter asked. He wondered if Wade had a special Deadpool outfit for dancing. All he could picture was something bright gold and probably with booty shorts, the thought made him chuckle softly.

Wade looked over at him.

“We’re getting dolled up,” Wade said. “It’s been forever since I’ve gone out dancing!”

Peter knew he made the right decision deciding to go tonight. He hadn’t seen Wade quite this happy before, and it made his chest feel warm. He’d just have to try his best to ignore the social anxiety.

Wade was halfway into the closet, and after some loud clattering noises and a grunt from him after a box up top fell down and beaned him on the head, he made a sort of “aha” noise of triumph and held up something red.

Wade turned around to hold up his prize for Peter, and Peter gave him an encouraging thumbs up. Wade reached down like he was about to take off his sweatpants, but then he stopped. 

It took Peter a moment to realize Wade was about to get naked.

“Oh god, sorry. Let me just–” Peter put the blanket over his head to give Wade some privacy, and to hide the fact that he’d gone bright red. He heard Wade’s muffled chuckle, and something that sounded like him muttering.

Peter heard a rustling of fabric. He could feel the warm air in the blanket as he breathed. It smelled like Wade in there, a comforting mixture of leather, baby powder, and oddly rose. There was more rustling, and finally Wade gave him the all-clear. 

“I’m decent.”

Peter pulled back the blanket and cold air hit his face.

“Are you ever really decent?” Peter joked, and then it felt like the air was knocked out of him as he caught sight of Wade.

Peter looked up at Wade. He was upside down with the way Peter was laying on the bed. Upside down, and wearing a dress. 

The first thing Peter noticed was that Wade’s legs were entirely bare.

It was not so much the dress itself that stunned Peter, but rather the fact that the dress hit a little above Wade’s knees leaving the rest of his well-muscled legs bare. Peter tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He rolled over and leaned up on one elbow to get a better look.

The dress had a cutout on the chest, baring Wade’s mottled skin, and two cutouts near the shoulders. The fabric looked soft, like velvet, and Peter had the sudden urge to run his fingers across it.

When Peter eyes finally made their way up to Wade’s mask he looked uncertain.

“It’s nice. I mean, you look nice...in it. You look nice in the dress” Peter said, smiling up at Wade. Peter felt his blush coming back.

Wade’s answering smile was tentative at first, but then it grew as he realized there wasn’t a punchline coming. He looked pleased.

“Damn straight I do!” Wade said, with a mini fist pump.

“I don’t know if there’s anything straight about that,” Peter teased.

“If you want to borrow anything...anything at all, go ahead,” Deadpool offered.

Peter eyed the dresses that were laid out on Wade’s bed curiously.

“There’s literally no judgment here,” Wade added. “Good god, Yellow. You can’t just say things like that!” Wade cried, turning away suddenly, and gave out a frustrated groan as he made his way back to the closet.

“Um...thanks,” Peter said. “But I think I’m okay in this.”

Wade went over to sit at the vanity mirror that sat in the corner– it looked like an old children’s playset, and Wade perched on what seemed to be a box of ammunition. Wade opened one of the drawers and pulled out something small and white. And then Peter felt like he might actually die, because Wade propped his foot on the vanity, and put his foot in it, and started rolling the white thing up his leg. 

Wade was putting on stockings. 

Wade flipped up the skirt of the dress a little, revealing a thin white something hanging down. Good fricking god, he had a garter belt too. Peter watched in fascination as Wade clipped the stockings to the garter belt. The stockings were just tight enough that his thick thighs bulged at the top where the elastic was tightest.

“What do you think, Petey? Is a wig too much for tonight?” he asked. 

“Huh?” Peter asked dazedly, dragging his eyes away from the stocking-clad legs to see Wade trailing a hand across a blond curly wig that was perched on top of a foam dummy head.

“Yeah, that might be a little too much for him. Maybe we’ll just stick with the mask tonight.”

Peter reached out to the clothes on the bed beside him and ran a finger over something blue and silky. It felt cold to the touch.

“Do whatever you feel comfortable with,” Peter said. “I think the wig would look nice. But it looks good without too.”

He looked up to see Wade looking stunned.

“Next time,” Wade said. Peter could hear the smile in his voice.

When Wade stood, the dress left a bare space between the stockings and the bottom hem. The skin was mottled in various blush tones. Peter couldn’t help but sneak a peek at his legs again, and then he felt awkward and looked up at the ceiling.

Wade finished off getting dressed and pried Peter from his spot on the bed. 

Peter reluctantly changed into a set of clothes that Wade insisted he'd left over at his place, but Peter was calling bullshit because the tags were still on the jeans, and he knew for a fact he’d never owned anything that nice. Rather than argue, he pulled them on, taking a moment to feel a little self-conscious in the tighter than usual jeans before listening to Wade's praises, although he drew the line when Wade started addressing the compliments to his ass.

Contrary to Wade’s belief, Peter had gone to a club before. He’d gone a couple of times, back when he still had a group of friends and regularly socialized. Mary Jane, Ned, Peter, and whatever other friends MJ and Ned had would come along. From what he remembered, it was loud and sweaty, but after nearly a dozen drinks he was able to overcome his awkwardness and dance. The tipsiness didn’t last as long as it would for other people, but even when it wore off he felt more relaxed because of the dancing and the company. 

He’d always had fun. Ned and Mary Jane loved dancing, and their excitement was infectious.

This club was nothing like the nightclubs MJ and Ned took him to. First of all, the sign declared it to be “Fairytail”. That was his first indication that Wade had taken him to a gay club. His next indication was when they were ushered in by the bouncer and he saw two male seeming people doing their best to eat each other’s faces off to the side.

No one batted an eye at Wade’s outfit. Maybe that wasn’t quite true. Many eyes went to Wade when they walked in, but not in judgment. Peter saw a variety of reactions, but none of them were disgust, most were appreciation, and he could see why. Wade’s thighs looked stupid thicc.

Wade pulled them through the crowd and over to the bar, then turned back to ask Peter what he wanted.

“Uh…” Peter said dumbly.

Usually, he would drink whatever his friends were having. He didn’t really like the taste of the drinks he’d had before. Another thing his enhanced senses affected.

“Sweet? Sour? Spicy?” Wade prompted.

“Sweet?” Peter guessed.

Wade leaned forward and caught the bartender’s eye to order their drinks. He got a beer for himself, and a Lemon Drop, which sounded like something Peter’s Aunt May might drink. Wade leaned against the bartop and turned to look at Peter.

“What do you think?”

Peter looked around timidly, leaning closer to Wade as people brushed by to get to the dance floor.

“It’s...colorful?” he said.

Wade’s shoulders shook with laughter.

“Kinda the point, baby boy,” Wade said.

The bartender put down Wade’s beer, and a tall, yellow drink with sugar around the rim. Before Peter could think about pulling out his wallet, Wade was pushing a card across the counter and asking the bartender to open a tab.

Wade was a whirlwind as always, and Peter was swept up onto the dance floor. He liked to dance, but he always felt a bit stiff and awkward without alcohol to loosen him up. It would take a lot more than the one drink to help.

He shouldn’t have been surprised at how at ease Wade was on the dance floor. Wade shimmied and wiggled his hips, moving like he was channeling the beat through his body. Peter often forgot how athletic Wade was, but it was difficult to ignore while he spun around on heels without even a wobble.

Peter tried to move along with him, but he was still too self-conscious. 

He snuck a couple more drinks in between the ones Wade got him, so despite his healing factor, he started to feel much more relaxed, and just this side of tipsy. All the while, they kept dancing. 

Peter’s head was pleasantly swimmy by the time a slower song came on. Normally, this was when Peter would leave the dance floor, but this time he didn’t want to go hide by the bar or make an excuse to go to the bathroom and kill time. He wanted to stay here and dance. 

The alcohol made him feel warm, and Wade seemed to smile the whole time as he swayed and gave a little hip wiggle every now and then. He was an entrancing mixture of graceful and clumsy that was just so Wade, and so endearing.

At some point, Wade’s hand came up to rest on one of Peter’s hips. His touch was hesitant at first, as though to give Peter space to pull away, but when Peter leaned in, his touch became surer. Peter swayed and felt Wade’s hands tighten and loosen to keep ahold of him. He was hyper-aware of Wade’s warm palms against his side. His shirt had pulled up a little and there was a bare strip of skin touching Wade’s bare hand. It made Peter’s heart pound a little with anxiety, but mostly he was filled with an odd thrill of excitement.

He leaned into the hand and gave himself over to the rhythm of the song. Peter watched the dress shift with each of Wade’s movements.

When Peter looked around, he saw everyone dancing. People were smiling. Couples were dancing close, people were swaying drunkenly, and he was pleasantly overwhelmed by the music and the energy in the air. He moved closer to Wade and reached up a hand. It hovered for a moment in front of Wade. He looked up to see Wade watching him curiously, not stopping his dancing. Peter finally settled his hand a little above Wade’s heart.

The hands on his hips pulled him forward, and he stumbled into Wade’s chest, but when he gained his footing he didn’t move away. The next song started playing, and it was faster this time, but they were still swaying like it was a slow song.

Wade leaned down and Peter could feel his warm breath next to his ear. But Peter didn’t get a chance to see if he was about to talk, because somebody stumbled into Peter, and spilled their drink all down his shirt.

Just like that, Peter felt anxious again. He hadn’t noticed how relaxed he felt until that sharp feeling of unease came back.

Peter scurried off to the bathroom to wipe off the drink. Thankfully his shirt was dark so it didn’t show up much. After patting himself dry as best he could with paper towels, he played through the last couple minutes in his head. His heart was pounding, and his mouth was too dry. 

He dabbed at the shirt until he’d put off facing Wade again for as long as he could.

It doesn’t take him long to find Wade who’d set himself up on a stool at the bar closest to the bathroom, seemingly so Peter could find him easier. He wasn’t alone. A tall, dark-haired figure in a fitted purple dress was sitting next to him, and leaning towards him, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. Before Peter could stand around feeling anymore awkward, Wade looked over and saw him. He hopped off the stool and made a beeline for Peter.

Peter found himself being led by the arm over to the bar and to the person Wade had been talking to before. Wade nudged him toward the stool he’d been sitting on before, and Peter perched on the edge, while Wade stood beside him. Wade’s arm settled on the bar behind Peter, loosely wrapping around him, and Peter leaned back so the arm was pressed against his back.

“Baby boy, this fine lady is Marsha,” Wade said, giving a nod toward the amazonian looking person in front of him.

“Marshie, this is Petey.”

Marsha sent Peter a wolfish grin, and held out a well-manicured hand for him to shake. Peter took it and stuttered out: “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh my god, he’s just as precious as you described,” Marsha said. Her voice was deeper than Peter expected, but the tone was soft.

Peter wondered if she was like Wade and liked to dress feminine, or if she was a woman. He didn’t want to be rude, so he didn’t ask, and it didn’t much matter anyway.

“How do you know Wade? Do you work with him?” Peter asked.

Marsha threw back her head and laughed.

“Goodness no, do I look like a merc to you?” Marsha thankfully did not seem to expect Peter to answer the question. “No, dear. I don’t work with Wade. Although I did meet him through his work.”

Marsha gestured for the bartender to refill her drink.

“My ex-wife hired Wade to take me out. Apparently she figured if I wasn’t gonna stick around in an unhappy marriage then at least she’d get a good payout from my life insurance. And then, because our Wade here’s a softie he decided he wasn’t going to kill me. Instead, he used the money Trish had given him to help me pay for my surgeries,” she gestured to her body.

“And if that wasn’t sweet enough. He helped me find a guy to make me new papers and ID that said I was Marsha Monroe, and always had been.”

Marsha’s smile turned soft, and she looked at Wade with fondness.

“He saved my life. Your man’s a hero.”

Peter turned to see Wade’s brow was furrowed.

“That I definitely ain’t,” Wade said, grabbing the drink next to Marsha and knocking it back.

Marsha giggled and shook her head.

“Always so humble, Mr. Wilson,” she said as she motioned at the bartender for a refill.

Peter let himself sink into the warmth of Wade at his side and into the sounds around him. Distantly, he was aware of Marsha and Wade chatting. It sounded like they hadn’t seen each other for a while, so they had a lot to catch up on. 

He sipped on another drink. This one tasted like cranberry and rubbing alcohol, and even though it didn’t taste too good, he enjoyed the warmth that spread through his limbs the more he drank, so he drained it and ordered another.

Peter didn’t know how much later it was when something nudged his side. He looked up to see Marsha smiling softly at him. At some point he’d started lolling to the side and he ended up leaning against Wade. One of Wade’s arms was around his waist, and Peter felt Wade’s hand rubbing his side.

“Hm?” Peter asked.

He blinked slowly, and brought the cup in his hand back up to drink. He sipped the last dregs before he put the empty cup on the bar.

“You looked like you’re gonna drop, baby boy,” Wade said.

Peter lifted his head from where he’d been leaning against Wade’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “It’s just...relaxing.” He gestured around to the club.

Wade pulled back to look at his face, and whatever he saw must have been good because a small smile pulled at his scarred lips.

“I’m glad you’re having fun. You need to relax more.”

Another slow song was playing, and Peter watched the people on the dance floor move in a slow, swaying mass.

“You wanna go home, baby boy?” Wade asked.

Peter couldn’t hold back a yawn.

“You get sweet pea there to bed, Wade. He looks like he’s gonna curl up right here and drool on you,” Marsha said.

Peter’s cheeks warmed at the image, but he didn’t bother arguing. He let Wade guide him off the stool. Something about the alcohol and the warmth of Wade’s arm made him feel like Jello. Calm, sleepy jello.

“It was nice to meet you Miss Monroe,” Peter said, waving goodbye.

Marsha gave him a dainty wave back.

“It was nice putting a Disney princess face to a name Wade won’t shut up about, Pete,” Marsha said.

“Let’s get you home,” Wade said, guiding them to the exit.

Wade got them a cab, and just managed not to fall asleep in the car.

Wade picked the lock on Peter’s apartment when he was too impatient for Peter to find the keys. Peter felt like he was flying as Wade carried him to his bedroom. His limbs were too wiggly and noncompliant, so when it came time to get into his pajamas, he couldn’t do it himself.

For the first time that night, Peter felt icy fear shoot through him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and he couldn’t get his legs to move. He heard Wade’s voice, but it was like hearing through water. He shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

He felt hands on his legs, and his brain sent the signal to kick whoever was touching him, but his legs didn’t get the message.

He must have made a noise of protest, because suddenly Wade’s soothing voice was back.

“Easy, I’m just taking your shoes off. I don’t think you want to sleep in those.”

True to his word, Peter felt him pull Peter’s shoes off.

Peter mustered the energy and focus to unzip his pants and kick them off. Wade’s hands were there to help pull off the pant legs that got all tangled up.

Peter heard Wade put something on the bedside table, then leave the room again. He heard water running. Peter tried to open his eyes, but they felt heavy, and once he wriggled into the covers, he was warm and comfy. Before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep.

He dreamt Wade came back in at some point and brushed a hand through his hair, whispering something about sweet dreams before disappearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Check out Gensyz's [twitter](https://twitter.com/Gensyzart) to see more of their awesome art!)


	10. Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool is beat to hell, and seeing things. Spider-Man has to talk him down.

Peter didn’t go out much these days. Aside from patrols, he and Wade had hung out a couple times. Peter was hesitant to call them dates. They felt more like playdates, or maybe like Wade was babysitting him . Either way, he didn’t leave his house much, and before Wade found him on that rooftop, he was making a valiant effort for that hermit of the year award.

That’s why it took a good few hours of worrying, and typing and retyping texts before he managed to text Ned. He started with a cheerful greeting, an apology, and then gave Ned a possible time to meet up for coffee. To be honest, the only reason he texted Ned was because his hand slipped and pressed send.

It took Ned an astounding two minutes and forty-seven seconds to reply.

Peter’s hands shook as he swiped the phone’s screen to check the message.

**Ned:** _ Saturday works for me. I can’t wait to see you! :) _

Peter knew Ned was dying to ask him about the radio silence, and he was unbelievably grateful for how quick Ned was to agree to the plans. He didn’t deserve such a patient friend.

He sent out a quick reply before proceeding to do a victory dance. Just as soon the feeling of triumph came over him, he felt nauseous. What if it all went horribly wrong?

The first thing Ned did when he saw him at the coffee shop was run full tilt at him.

“I’m gonna probably yell at you later, but right now I’m going to hug you until neither of us can breathe,” Ned announced moments before colliding with Peter in a hug.

Peter couldn’t do anything but hug him back.

Peter had been waiting outside the coffee shop in the chilly morning air, so the warm hug was comforting on so many levels. The hug was warm, and tight, and Peter just let himself sink into it, smelling the familiar scent of Ned – old spice body wash like he’d used since high school.

After Ned had given him a thorough squeeze, he finally stepped back.

“Where have you been, man? I mean I know you’ve been out as,” Ned paused, and glanced around then lowered his voice, “Spider-Man. So why haven’t I heard from you? Even May said she hasn’t seen you much.”

Peter wasn’t sure where to start. He wasn’t even sure what had kept him from talking to his friends. Every time he opened his phone and looked at the blank message, it felt like it was too much effort to type out the words. And then as time went by it got harder and harder to reach out, and it got easier and easier to just stay in and be alone. It didn’t feel good by any means –  he was lonely – but it was too difficult to change things.

He felt especially bad because there wasn’t some big thing that happened. He couldn’t put his finger on why he’s pulled away from the people he cares about. It wasn’t like school had gotten harder, or like a big life event was thrown him off. It was just little things creeping up, and something that happened years ago that he couldn’t seem to shake off.

“You’ve been talking to May?”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a commotion outside. Peter heard a gunshot, and his spidey sense gave a sharp thrill through him that sent adrenaline through his body. Someone was armed and shooting out into the street. Peter watched the other people in the coffee shop hit the deck when one of the windows exploded into glass shards.

When he peeked up over the table he caught a glimpse of a red suit. Either Santa had gone on a rampage, or he’d just seen Deadpool.

“That one of Spider-Man’s villains?” Ned asked, peering over the top of the table beside Peter.

He looked wary, but not nearly as terrified as some of the people around them. This was New York, so everyone was fairly used to this kind of situation. People adjusted pretty quickly when every other week some huge robot army or another was trying to take over the city.

“No. That’s Deadpool,” Peter said.

“You mean that guy you said sometimes helps the Avengers? He fought those alien things a couple weeks ago, right?

“Yeah, that one.”

Peter peered over the top of the table again. He was having difficulty seeing the similarities between the Wade he knows and the man he’s seeing out on the street right now. Yes, it was clearly Deadpool. The suit was a dead giveaway, but Wade’s body language was odd. His movements were erratic, and he seemed oddly jumpy. He looked dangerous, which was punctuated by the way Peter’s spidey sense was going haywire.

“I need to go out there,” Peter said.

“Are you sure?” Ned asked, giving him a worried look.

Peter wasn’t afraid of Deadpool, but it was clear something was wrong. He needed to de-escalate the situation before something went horribly wrong. It didn’t look like anyone had been hurt yet, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Thankfully, everyone seemed much more concerned with the armed man outside than with keeping track of the people around them, so Peter slipped out the back into the alley. He checked to make sure no one was watching and then changed into his Spidey suit, then webbed up his backpack behind a dumpster.

He would have preferred to approach Deadpool as Peter. Wade probably trusted Peter more than Spider-Man, but he wanted the option of a fast escape if the cops came too soon. This way he could get Wade out of there if things went south.

He made his way out to the street, keeping an eye out. He didn’t see any police officers on the scene yet, just bystanders filming on their phones and getting stupidly close to the armed mercenary. Deadpool was pacing in the middle of the street, and he seemed to be having a loud conversation with the open air in front of him.

“You shut your garbage mouth,” Deadpool yelled, pointing his gun at nothing.

Peter took a moment to observe Wade. His suit looked like it had seen better days. There was a big tear in the front showing off parts of his scarred chest, and he had more shred marks on his arms like something tore into his suit.

Someone whimpered, and Peter spied a man tucked behind a newspaper stand in the general direction of the barrel of Deadpool’s gun.

Peter didn’t want to startle Deadpool, but he needed to get his attention. Peter approached slowly, trying to make his footsteps loud enough that Deadpool could hear him.

“That’s not – ” Whatever Deadpool was about to say was cut off as he pivoted to face Peter.

The barrel of the gun pointed directly at Peter, and his spidey senses went nuts in a way they never had around Deadpool. Peter brought his hands up on reflex to show he was unarmed.

“Whoa! Deadpool! It’s me,” Peter said. “Don’t shoot. It’s me.”

Deadpool didn’t lower the gun, and his head cocked to the side like he wasn’t sure what to make of Spider-Man.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Peter chanced a step toward Deadpool.

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Peter said. “I’m supposed to be out with a friend right now. Although, I figured you could use a hand.”

Peter tried to keep his tone light, but he was still wary of the gun pointed at him. Even though he was fairly far away from Deadpool he had no doubt that the other man’s aim was good enough to hit something vital. 

Peter could dodge bullets, but it didn’t change that his spidey sense was doing the samba up his spine right now. He kept his feet firmly planted, resisting the signals in his brain telling him to web himself away. He couldn’t just leave Wade like this.

“You’re dead.” Deadpool shook his head, and his voice wavered.

Peter didn’t know what to make of the declaration.

Peter watched as he put the gun away, but even though the gesture should have been reassuring that didn’t necessarily calm Peter.

“Okay. I must have missed the memo on that,” Peter joked. “Seriously, you think someone would have thought to send me a note, or call me or something.”

He could tell that maybe joking wasn’t the way to go, because Deadpool stepped toward him, and if possible Peter’s spidey sense ratcheted up a notch. The other man pulled out his katanas.

“Oh my god!”

The exclamation from one of the bystanders distracted Peter for just a moment, but that was all Deadpool needed to close the distance between them. When Peter turned back, Deadpool’s katanas were held out inches from his neck on either side.

“You think you’re so fucking clever you fake Ness-looking Cylon, bastard baby of Loki and Mystique. Whatever or whoever you are, let’s see how you stack up against Bea and Arthur here. Do you bleed red like a human or when I cut you open are you gonna be blue?”

“Fake? Wade what do you think is happening?” Peter stumbled over the words, understandably distracted by the steel blades inches from his face.

Just a flick of Deadpool’s wrist and Peter had no doubt he could do some serious damage to Peter’s person.

“You’re not real,” Deadpool says seriously. “You’re not here. You can’t be.”

Peter was starting to think he'd made a mistake coming out here to confront Deadpool. He knew that Wade’s mind was a little screwy, but he hadn't realized how bad it could get.

“You’re fucking with me,” Deadpool said low and dangerous. The blades were resting on Peter’s neck now. “And I really don’t like to be fucked with.”

“I’m not –  I’m not pretending to be anyone. I’m just me. Spider-Man” Peter insisted. “And I don’t know who this Ness person is you keep talking about, but I’m not her, and I’m not pretending to be her. I think you’re seeing things.”

Wade still had the blade at Peter’s neck, but Peter’s spidey sense was going on and off like the man wasn’t quite sure about the whole chopping off Peter’s neck, so Peter tried to ignore the fact that a highly trained mercenary had a weapon aimed at him.

“You’re real, but you’re saying you’re not Ness,” Wade parroted back, sounding skeptical. At least he seemed to be processing what Peter was saying now, that was a good sign, right?

“Like, ninety-nine point nine four percent sure,” Peter said, careful to keep his hands up still.

“What about the other point oh six percent?”

“That’s just in case this is all some dream or like general uncertainty about my own existence, you know? I’m a hundred percent sure I’m not this Ness person.” Peter cursed himself for his rambling. That was not what this situation needed.

Wade reached up to scratch at his chin.

There was a tense silence and Peter pointedly stayed very still and quiet, letting Wade take his time. As much as he wanted to tell Wade to hurry up, he didn’t. Peter heard bystanders talking, and he kept an ear out for sirens. It was a miracle the police hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe they were busy. 

He definitely wanted to get Wade out of here before the cops showed up – partially for their safety.

When Wade still didn’t move or say anything, and it seemed like he was having an internal argument – probably with the voices in his head – Peter broke the silence. 

“Okay, Wade. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Peter said. Wade’s head tilted like he was listening – hopefully to Peter and not to the boxes.

“You’re going to put your sword away – ” Peter’s spidey sense fluttered a little, and he felt the katana push against his neck, but he pressed on. “Or not, but at least let me move a little, okay? Then you and I are gonna get out of here, because there’s probably about a dozen people have called the cops at this point, and honestly I don’t know how they aren’t here already –  must be a busy day or something – ”

As if on cue, Peter heard sirens.

“Crap. Right. Okay. We need to go now!”

Peter took a chance and nudged the blade aside. He held his breath and was glad to see that Wade allowed it, at least for the moment. Peter stepped towards Wade until he was only a foot away from the man.

“I’m going to put my arms around you now.”

Wade was oddly still as Peter swung them away with Wade tucked into his side. Usually, Wade wiggled or sang when Peter let him swing around with him.

Deadpool didn’t offer any suggestions about where to go, but Peter figured getting out of the open would be the best plan, so he took them back to Wade’s apartment.

“Hold on a second. Don’t come in just yet.”

Wade shut the door behind him, and Peter waited outside. He heard crashing, and loud clanging from inside. It sounded like Wade was arguing with the boxes. There was a noise like a cat yowling, and then finally the door opened again. Wade was out of breath.

“Come on in. I’ll make you a cup of…” He tilted his head like he was thinking. “Coffee? Yeah I think I have that.”

Peter hesitantly stepped inside the apartment and looked around. It was still messy. Deadpool clearly had moved some things off the coffee table, and Peter could see where a bunch of guns were peeking out from under the couch skirt, as though Wade had just shoved them under the couch.

“Coffee sounds good,” Peter said.

Deadpool put the coffee pot on and then came back to stand in the doorway to the living room. Peter perched himself on the edge of the couch.

“I’m just gonna...slip into something a little less breezy,” Deadpool said, awkwardly shuffling to the doorway behind the couch. Peter noted that Deadpool carefully kept his back facing away from Peter, and he kept turning his head like he was looking for something. Peter averted his eyes to give Deadpool a little more privacy.

“You don’t have to stick around, you know. You’ve done your job Spidey. Got the crazy back to his house,” Wade said from the other room.

Peter couldn’t tell for sure, but the way Wade said it reminded Peter of how he’d push others away when he was worried he was becoming too much of a burden. He wasn’t about to leave Wade alone after that ordeal though.

“I was promised coffee,” Peter said.

“Well if you’re sticking around, might as well get to work calling in for food.”

Deadpool told Peter to find the Chinese takeout menu. Peter sifted through the pile of takeout menus.  Wade had Peter order everything that was circled on the menu which included dan-dan noodles, mapo tofu, and about a dozen other things only half of which Peter recognized. Deadpool told him to order some stuff for himself too if he wanted, his treat. 

“But it’s spicy,” Deadpool warned. “Sichuan food. None of that sweet Beijing shit, because I’m in the mood to have my taste buds burned off, so if you’re looking for some dim sum Spidey you can just fuck right off.”

Peter ordered himself some kind of hot and sour soup. He was tempted to ask the person on the other end how spicy it is, but his social anxiety made him order it and hope for the best.

When Deadpool was dressed in a cleaner, less holey suit, and they were both settled on the couch with a mountain of takeout in front of them, Peter finally asked Wade about earlier. He didn’t want to upset the man, but he needed to know more. 

“What happened out there?” Peter started out.

Wade sighed, looking down into his food like he could find the answers there.

“I was on a mission. My brain got a little scrambled, and I ended up duking it out with some hallucinations. At least, I’m guessing those were hallucinations.” Wade looked over to Peter at the end as though for confirmation, and Peter nodded.

“I didn’t see anyone else there.”

“I thought so.” Wade sounded unsurprised and entirely exhausted.

“Did something happen on the mission?” Peter asked, trying to understand what happened.

“The mission went pretty okay. Typical SHIELD and Avengers thing. Some guy in a suit  gave me a boring folder. I dropped into a facility, got the file, saved the girl. You know. Getting home was a little rough though.”

Peter didn’t miss how Wade absently touched his chest where the tear in his suit had been earlier.

Peter had never worked with SHIELD before, but he figured they had cool escape vehicles. Maybe a private jet or something like the X-men's Blackbird, or maybe something smaller and stealthier.

“Did your escape go wrong?”

Wade laughed, shaking his head like Peter just told the funniest joke. Peter didn’t get it.

Finally, Wade stopped mid-chew to look up at Peter.

“Oh, you were serious.”

Why wouldn’t he be?

“Uh, yeah that would be a nope-eroo on the escape boat. There was no escape plan. SHIELD doesn’t take care of exfiltration for me.”

“Why not?”

“I mean, I guess the escape plan was the bomb.” Deadpool scratched at the side of his head through the mask.

“What the hell?”

“Spidey made a swear,” Deadpool pointed out, and then took a bite of orange chicken.

“So all of that. You getting hurt was part of the plan?!” Peter hopped up at this point and paced furiously.

Deadpool watched him curiously from the couch. He shovelled the Chinese takeout into his mouth.

“I’m indestructible. Why not blow me up?” Wade said it with his familiar cheer, but there was an edge to his voice and his mouth was set in a sneer.

“That’s...not right.”

“It is what it is.”

Wade waved him off like he was done with the topic. Wade made it clear he didn’t want to discuss the mission any further, so Peter dropped it. Peter didn’t want to push him anymore, but he made a mental note to have a word with SHIELD or the Avengers or whoever it is that was in charge of the plan for the mission.

Peter grabbed a random takeout container and opened it up. It looked like noodles in some kind of reddish sauce with little bits of meat. He grabbed his chopsticks and clumsily picked up a noodle to try. He was a couple bites in when he realized that he’d made a grave error. The noodles were really spicy.

He set the container down and started opening the other containers looking for some plain rice, all the while he tried to ignore the fact that his mouth was on fire.

Wade smiled and held out some strawberry milk that he’d spirited from somewhere.

“Oh my god that’s hot!” Peter said, chugging the proffered drink.

“Who woulda thought Spidey was such a wimp when it came to spicy food. Gotta say, that’s kind of a turn-off, webs,” Wade said, chuckling. 

It was the first real smile Peter had seen on his face today.

“Shut up,” Peter said through another mouthful of his drink.

“What is that stuff?” Peter asked, gesturing to the container of noodles that was to blame for his burning mouth.

“Dan-dan noodles. They’re the bomb.”

Peter snorted.

“Shut up. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I kick your butt at video games,” Peter said, noticing the playstation balancing on a pile of mail.

“Gasp! Spidey said ‘butt’,” Wade said.

They spent the rest of the day pigging out on takeout and playing games. Between games, Peter managed to set up another coffee date with Ned, who insisted on text check-ins every hour to make sure Peter wasn’t being brutally murdered by Deadpool. All in all, Peter felt pretty good.


	11. Captain Freaking America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man fights alongside the Avengers. Spidey gets an invite to the Tower.

“Is he okay?” the woman Peter just finished pulling out of the way of falling debris asked. Her finger was pointed at Deadpool.

“Don’t worry. He does that,” Peter said to reassure her, but he sent a worried glance to Deadpool who lost an arm at some point, and was now yelling yo’ mama jokes at the aliens like he was hoping to lose the other one.

“I should probably go help him,” Peter added, when he saw another alien ship land near Deadpool.

Before he got the chance to go lend a hand, Cap’s voice instructed Peter that he was needed in another area of the street. The Avengers had given him a comm at the beginning of the fight, and Peter just had to trust that they knew better. They did these big fights all the time, so they must have been excellent strategists. Besides, they probably gave Wade his own instructions.

Peter sent one last glance to Deadpool before swinging away to help out elsewhere.

It was a rough fight. Peter wasn’t used to these all-out battles. Spider-Man was more a small-time hero who dealt with small-time hero things. The Avengers dealt with the larger stuff: Doombots, aliens, and 

Peter met back up with the others at the end. He was busy being both tired and pleased as beautiful Thor patted him on the shoulder and told him he did a good job – he had a hard week okay, and being praised by a literal god was definitely on his top ten list of bucket list items. This was why it took him a moment to notice Deadpool leaving. To be fair, Deadpool was sneaking away like a wounded animal slinking off to lick his wounds. 

All throughout the battle Wade had quipped and chatted like usual. He seemed to shrug off every blast from alien guns, every stab wound, and when he lost an arm he kept joking, so Peter didn’t think anything of it. But now Deadpool was quiet, and Peter saw the way his shoulders were slumped, and he limped down the street.

Peter was just about to go follow, to see if he was alright when Captain America stepped into his line of sight.

“You alright, son?” Captain America asked him. Oh my god, Steve Rogers wanted to know if he was okay. He’d fought with them all before, but he’d never really talked up close with them.

“Yeah, Mr. Captain America, sir. I’m just fine,” Peter said, only mildly sounding like a pre-pubescent kid as he stumbled over his words. But come on, it was Captain Freaking America. He used to wear footie pajamas with the guy’s face on them. He was allowed a little bit of a fanboy freakout.

Captain America smiled, but Peter saw his brows furrow a little like he was thinking.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. Steve is fine,” Captain America said, offering a hand.

Peter tried to keep his cool as he shook the man’s hand.

“P-Spider-Man, sir.” Thankfully he caught himself before he said his name. You’d think he’d be used to the whole secret identity thing by now. Thankfully Captain Rogers ignored the slip.

Captain Rogers chuckled.

“You did good out there. Actually, you always seem to do good work. We saw what you did last week,” Steve said. “We’d love to have you come by the tower some time. We have some opportunities we’d like to talk to you about.”

Peter wracked his brain for what Steve was referring to. Was it the incident with the Lizard? Or maybe that robbery at the aquarium?

Also, oh my god! The Avengers wanted to talk to him. Maybe they were gonna give him a medal or a commendation. Maybe they just wanted to hang out. No, they were serious superheroes they didn’t just hang out with people. What if they wanted to hire him as a back-up Avenger, like a B-team backup type hero?

“Really? Thanks. Yeah I can do that, come by I mean. I can come by some time,” Peter tried to sound casual.

Peter spent the rest of the evening yo-yoing between anxiety and excitement about going to the Avengers Tower. Still, despite the happy news that he might finally be about to be invited to the big leagues he couldn’t fully enjoy the feeling. He couldn’t shake the image of Deadpool hurt, and leaving the battle alone.


	12. Calling May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally pays Aunt May a visit. Cue the crying and hugging.

He called Aunt May, and the phone started ringing just as he started panicking. He hadn’t seen her in weeks and weeks. He’d tried to talk to her once in that time, but he ended the call before she could pick up.

He rang her again, and this time he didn’t hang up. His fingers tapped at his leg, and he found himself hopping up to pace.

_ Click _ .

“Hello?”

It took a moment for Peter to remember that May didn’t have caller ID. He could still hang up. She’d never have to know it was him who called, and chickened out at the last second.

“It’s Peter.”

Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?

“Is everything okay? Are you hurt?” She sounded worried.

He felt bad that the first thing she asked was that – like the only reason he might call her was if something was seriously wrong.

“No, nothing like that. I’m fine,” he jumped to reassure her.

He didn’t quite know where to start. He was out of practice talking to her.

“Good. Well, how are you?” She sounded just as unsure as he felt.

“I’m fine.”

He was fifteen again, overwhelmed by his new powers, and feeling lost and unsure of himself. He’d pulled away from May then too, unsure of how to talk to her or Ben.

“How’s school going?”

“Good. I’m finishing up midterms this week.” He didn’t tell her about the class he had to drop because he was overwhelmed, and his Spider-Manning and depression got in the way.

“I’m glad.”

There was a long pause and heard her shifting on the other end.

“I know you probably are busy, but if you want to come to dinner on Friday, I’d love to have you,” May said.

She sounded hopeful, but not like she expected him to actually say yes. He was a terrible person.

He said yes, like an idiot, because he couldn’t bear to break her heart anymore. The joy in her voice let him know it was the right choice.

Too soon, Friday came, and he was dragging his feet on patrol. Wade was gone on a job, so he was alone tonight. He stopped a couple of robberies, and helped a woman find her lost cat. It was a slow night, so there wasn’t much to keep him busy. Five thirty was fast approaching, which meant he should probably swing over to Aunt May’s soon.

He perched on the edge of a building, listening out for a fight, but finding nothing but the usual New York sounds. Peter began a lively internal debate on the merits of canceling on Aunt May. He could tell her he got sick, or that Jameson kept him late to work on a story. Each excuse he came up with sounded increasingly flimsy and stupid.

He should never have agreed to dinner.

This was how Deadpool found him – arguing with himself, and near pulling out his hair if he hadn’t been wearing a mask. Peter was ready to swing home and hide under his covers – the mature adult way to deal with his problems. Maybe he’d drown his sorrows in some ice cream if he had any left in the freezer.

“Incoming!”

Peter barely had time to react to the blur of red that went darting past him and over the side of the building. On reflex, he shot out a web and managed to catch the falling projectile that was easily recognizable as Deadpool.

“What the crap?”

Peter hoisted Wade up and found himself with a lap full of excitable merc. He wished he could say this was the first time this had happened.

“Spidey made a swear.”

Peter rolled his eyes under the mask.

“We’ve talked about this,” Peter scolded, picking up Wade, and setting him on the ledge beside Peter. “I thought you were going to try not to fling yourself off of buildings unless it was an absolute emergency.”

After Wade finished making heart eyes and grabby hands at Peter’s arms, he dusted himself off and stood.

“This was an emergency.”

Peter glanced around, opening up his senses to see if something was happening nearby. His spidey sense was silent, but maybe it was acting up.

“My baby boy was looking glum.”

Peter had to remind himself that heroes didn’t just punch people for no reason. He took a deep breath.

“How in Thor’s name was throwing yourself off a building supposed to make me feel better?”

Wade didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.

“Hey, it distracted you didn’t it? Mission accomplished.”

“You’re back early,” Peter commented, as Wade settled down beside him.

“The plot needed me back here for a heart to heart,” Wade said cryptically.

He knocked his boot against Peter’s foot.

“What’s got Spidey all down in the dumps? Girlfriend ditch you? Waterspout knock down your web? You get a new villain trying to stomp on you with a giant shoe.”

“Ha ha,” Peter said dryly.

He hadn’t looked at his phone, but he’d bet it was already past time he should leave to go to May’s.

“Seriously, what’s up?” Wade’s joking tone was gone now, and he was doing that earnest thing where he focused all of his attention on Peter, and he got all antsy like being so earnest was giving him hives. It shouldn’t have been so endearing, the way asking how someone was doing made Wade kick his feet and practically vibrate with discomfort, but it was.

Peter considered lying. He should try harder to keep Spider-Man and Peter separate as far as Deadpool was concerned. The man wasn’t an idiot. The only reason he hadn’t caught on right away was because of the voice augmentor in Peter’s suit that he’d added after high school, and because Peter was careful to keep personal details as Spider-Man to a minimum.

But it was difficult to stay distant. Wade was his friend, and besides Ned, he was the only friend Peter really had. He felt bad for all of the shit Ned had to deal with from him over the years, so he didn’t want to bother him about this. But Wade was right here.

“I have dinner with someone really important to me in about,” Peter checked his phone, “fifteen minutes ago.”

“And that’s a bad thing because...your girlfriend is a zombie who wants to eat your flesh?”

Peter laughed.

“I wish. Then I’d know how to handle the situation.” 

How do you explain to a loved one that you haven’t been to see in months that there’s something fundamentally broken in you? Peter couldn’t even begin to figure out how to explain himself to May, and part of him thought he couldn’t justify his behavior. Plenty of people had it worse than he does. He should just be able to push on through. 

“You’d rather your girlfriend was a zombie? Because believe me, zombies ain’t pretty. Boy, that was a wild timeline.”

Peter ignored the comment about a different timeline. It wasn’t the first time Deadpool had talked about other worlds or timelines, or the “fourth wall”. Peter figured it was a fairly harmless delusion.

“I don’t have a girlfriend. What’s your obsession with that?”

“No reason,” Deadpool said.

Peter felt his phone vibrate in his hand. It was probably Aunt May wondering where he was.

What if she was angry with him for being gone so long? What if she never forgave him? He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“What if she hates me?” Peter blurted out.

“I can’t imagine anyone hating you,” Deadpool said. “Okay, besides your villains, but they’re big ol’ meanies anyway… and Jameson. But that’s because he’s making money off of hating you. I’ve got this theory he’s your biggest fan actually and – ”

Deadpool whipped his head back towards Peter.

“Who is ‘she’?” Deadpool asked.

His last real family. The closest thing to a mother he’d had for most of his life.

“Family,” Peter said. “I haven’t been by to see her in a long time. I’ve just been having so much going on, and for some reason I just –  I couldn’t get myself over to visit.” Even now Peter felt like he was just making excuses.

“I haven’t been out to see anyone actually. Not for a while. The only time I really go out besides work, is for patrolling.”

Peter looked down at his hands, and the phone still clutched in them. The message notification lit up his screen.

“I’ve been a really crappy kid. I haven’t visited, and now it feels like it’s been too long to explain myself, or to justify it. I’m just… I’m a bad person and I can’t even stop it.”

Wade looked forward, but Peter could see from the furrow of his brow that he was thinking about what Peter said.

“I can’t guarantee she won’t be mad. Everyone deals with hurt in different ways. But as someone who’s kind of an expert in family dysfunction, I know all about family hating you. A little radio silence shouldn’t be the end of the world. Maybe it’ll suck, and maybe she’ll cry or get mad, but you just gotta go through it.”

“I was hoping you’d have some life hacks for me,” Peter teased, throat still feeling tight. “Instead you’re giving me fortune cookie advice, Pool.”

Wade nudged his shoulder companionably, and Peter couldn’t help but lean into it.

“You’ll be fine,” Wade assured him.

“What if it’s not all fine?” Peter felt incredibly small. What if the last of his family left him? What if May decided he wasn’t worth it and gave up on him?

“Then you’ll just have to let me adopt you!” Wade hopped up and pulled Peter to his feet with him. “Wait, no. I don’t want to be your dad.”

Wade squeezed Peter in a hug, and Peter laughed.

“Daddy sounds much better.”

Peter made a face at that, but it was pressed into Wade’s shoulder so he couldn’t see.

“How about you just keep being my friend,” Peter said, lifted his arms up to return the hug. It wasn’t until he’d done it that he realized this wasn’t normal for Spider-Man and Deadpool. Peter and Deadpool maybe, but Spider-Man wasn't usually so touchy feely with Deadpool.

Wade went still, and for a second Peter thought he’d been found out, but then Deadpool squeezed him back full force.

“I knew we were besties!” Deadpool shouted.

“DP, inside voice please,” Peter whispered, reaching up to cover his ears.

Deadpool dropped his arms like Peter had burned him, and even though he looked properly cowed, he said, “We’re not even inside.”

“I better get going. I’m more than late at this point,” Peter said, turning to leave. “Thanks for helping me, Pool.” 

Peter dragged his feet a little. There was still a chance some horrible catastrophe would happen, and then he’d have no choice but to miss dinner.

Just as Peter reached up to shoot a web, Deadpool called out.

“Hey, Spidey.”

Peter turned back to look at him.

“Are we really friends?” It was a voice distinctly Wade. Peter rarely heard him sound like it in the suit. Something about the suit gave Wade confidence, made him louder and more energetic. 

Although Peter guessed it was the same for him. When he could hide behind the mask it was easier to be confident.

“Of course we are.”

Peter gave Wade one last wave and then swung away, smiling as he just barely heard Wade repeating the words, “I’m best friends with Spider-Man” to himself.

  
  


There was an odd moment right after May opened the front door where they stood and stared at each other. May’s eyes got bright and wet like she might cry, and Peter braced himself for whatever was about to happen. She’d never been a yeller, but maybe she’d make an exception. Or maybe she had the remains of his things boxed up and ready to give to him. Maybe that was the only reason she invited him by tonight.

The longer she stared, the more Peter imagined terrible scenarios. He felt himself curling in under her gaze. He held his arm in a familiar nervous gesture. He wished he had his web-shooters on right now. They usually brought him comfort. Plus, then he’d know he could swing away at a moment’s notice.

May moved, and Peter braced himself for a hit. She wasn’t violent, but he certainly wouldn’t blame her if she got angry.

Then her arms were wrapped around him in a hug.

It had been so long since he hugged her. It was odd and nearly unfamiliar because of how long it had been since he held her. But he reached up his arms and wrapped them around her, and when she squeezed him tightly, all the tension in his body disappeared. He remembered what it felt like to hug her now.

His shoulder was wet from her tears, and she made little hiccup noises as she rocked them both back and forth. His own eyes were suspiciously wet.

“I’m sorry,” May said. “I’m just feeling a little emotional.”

She reached up to cup the side of his face, and she inspected him like she saw everything that had happened since she last saw him.

When they sat down to eat, it felt like no time had passed. May made Peter’s favorite, mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Dessert was baking in the oven. He knew it was a store-bought pie, but he always lets May pretend she made it herself even though they both knew she couldn’t bake to save her life.

She piled food onto a plate for him and started right in on the newest gossip. She updated him about what was been going on with the neighbors and her coworkers. The neighbors to the right just had a baby and he kept crying at night. She told him about the new manager overseeing her who couldn’t tie his own shoes without an instruction manual.

She gracefully avoided any mention of their time apart. And she kept her questions for him surface level, as though she wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the subject.

Finally, Peter couldn’t take ignoring the elephant in the room any longer.

“Are you mad with me?”

May stopped in the middle of the story she’d been telling. She looked genuinely startled.

“Mad?” she echoed. “Why on earth would I be mad?”

Peter pulled at the napkins in his hands. He had to check his strength so he didn’t accidentally shred the cloth.

“I haven’t been coming by to see you.”

Every time Peter had ducked out on dinner with May, or ‘forgot’ to call her back, he’d felt awful, but it was like he couldn’t stop himself. It felt like he couldn’t see her. It should have just been a matter of taking the subway, or swinging by, even just calling her back to tell her he was okay, but whenever he tried, there had been a mental block. If not for Wade’s little pep talk earlier, he might not have even come tonight.

May watched him quietly, with a familiar patience he’d seen in her every time he needed to talk to her when he was younger. She had this way of just sitting quietly that made you want to spill all your thoughts and feelings to her. Maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding her for so long.

“I’ve been awful to you. I didn’t come to check on you, or help out,” Peter continued.

“You’ve been sending money all the time – ”

“Yeah, but I haven’t really been there for you for months!”

May frowned and reached forward to grab Peter’s hands. She gently pried his fingers from the napkin and interlaced their fingers.

“I haven’t been here,” Peter repeated.

“Is this what’s been bothering you? You’re worried you’re not helping out enough?” May asked.

“Yes. I mean, not just that. It’s… complicated.”

“You’re here now,” May said.

And there she was, being too nice to him again. She was giving him an out, so they could move forward without having to talk about what was making him uncomfortable.

“Don’t do that,” Peter said with a sigh.

“Don’t do what?”

“Let me off easy,” Peter said.

May smiled a little and squeezed his hands.

Peter’s eyes were wet.

“I’d have to be an idiot not to see that you’ve been having a rough time of it. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and you’re too skinny. Whatever has been going on with you, whatever you want to say can wait a little bit.”

The oven dinged.

“Come on. There’ll be plenty of time for self-flagellation later. Right now there's pie,” May said.

Peter couldn’t help but smile back.


	13. A Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spidey goes to the Avengers Tower. Things don't go quite how he expected.

Peter woke up happy. He’d finally gotten around to seeing May. Things were going well with Ned, and he and Wade were hanging out in and out of their suits. Life was good. There was still the constant criticism from The Daily Bugle, but even when they plastered pictures of Deadpool and he together across the front and talked about how Spider-Man was a menace who consorted with killers, Peter didn’t mind. He was too busy actually feeling kind of okay for once. 

Not to mention, the Avengers wanted to meet with him. He got suited up, and swung to the tower, throwing in more than a few flips and extra tricks along the way. He had to give the tourists something to enjoy.

He decided to forgo his usual method of getting into the tower – namely the window – and instead go through security. This way he could show them Spider-Man was a responsible adult.

“I believe the Avengers are expecting me,” Spider-Man greeted the woman at the desk.

She offered him a dubious look, and held up a finger for him to wait. After a few moments on the phone she waved him over to an entrance off to the side.

“Thank you!” Peter said with a grin.

The receptionist ignored him and turned back to her computer.

He made his way over to what turned out to be a private elevator. He couldn’t help but grin and bounce on his feet as the elevator carried him up to the top floor.

This was it. He was about to be recognized as a real superhero, he was going to be in the big leagues with all of his childhood heroes. He was tempted to tell DP about it as soon as he found out, but he didn’t want to jinx things. So he kept the good news to himself.

He should have known it was too good to be true.

“There’s just one teeny tiny thing,” Mr. Stark said, making a gesture to emphasize the teeniness of what he was about to say.

“Is it the suit? Because I’m kinda attached to the color scheme, although I’m not dead set on the design. I can be flexible. I mean, I won’t say no to some changes. The name can’t be changed at this point though, I mean everyone recognizes it, and J.J. Jameson is used to plastering it on the front page with lots of angry words, you know? And honestly I like Spider-Man. It’s way better than what I had originally come up with, you should have seen the brainstorming there. It was bad.”

Mr. Stark had that look that most people got when Peter started rambling— a little stunned, eyes glazed over.

“No. The uniform’s fine. Although, I’ll probably be making you an upgrade from that glorified onesie you’ve got on. Because that suit is pathetic in the protection department. It won’t even protect you from a light breeze. Yeah, we’ll have to make you something flexible but tough. Something with a little more armor, and maybe a few bells and whistles.”

Holy shit. Tony Stark was offering to make him a suit. Was this real life?

“Holy shi-shoot. You want to make me a new suit? That’s awesome!” 

This must mean he was going to be a real Avenger. Peter struggled to stay casual. He didn’t want to seem too excited and fanboyish. That would be completely uncool.

Mr. Stark didn’t seem put off by Peter’s excitement.

“So what is this teeny tiny thing you need from me?” Peter prompted. 

Maybe there was some kind of test he had to take, or some kind of mission to make sure he was ready to be an Avenger.

“Ah.” Mr. Stark looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “Well, that is. We’ve read the articles in the Bugle, and seen some photos people have taken of you on patrol –  you know, posted onto social media and such.”

“Mm hmm.”

“And it seems like a lot of them feature a familiar face. Well, I say face. Mask really.”

Peter was too busy picturing what his new Spidey suit might look like to focus what Mr. Stark was saying.

“Yeah,” Peter said absently.

“We know you’ve been patrolling with Deadpool,” Cap cut in.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Wait, do you want me to help recruit him? Because I don’t think he needs convincing. He loves you guys. He has all the Avengers merch, and he always complains about how there’s no Black Widow t-shirts. I’m pretty sure if Cap asked him to cut off his arm he would –  although to be fair he’ll cut his own arm off for the last taco in the bag. He’s not too fussed about that.”

“Well that’s a disturbing image,” Mr. Stark commented. “No, we don’t want you to recruit him, kid.”

He saw Mr. Stark send a look at the ceiling like he was looking for guidance.

“We think it would be best if you cut ties with him. It’s not good for our public image to be seen associating with criminals. Being seen working with people like Deadpool sends the wrong message,” Mr. Stark explained.

“People like Deadpool,” Peter echoed.

“He kills people for money.” Black Widow pointed out.

“He hasn’t killed people in months,” Peter said, but Mr. Stark was already bowling over him again.

“He’s a bad seed, kid. Not exactly hero material,” Stark said.

“Of course he’s struggling with being a hero. No one ever gives him a chance,” Peter said.

“Listen, it’s nothing personal to the guy –  well, okay it kind of is. That idiot stole one of my jets. But regardless, that’s not the issue right now. The issue is that he is dangerous, and he’s a killer.”

Peter wondered if Mr. Stark knew how cliched he sounded. Was this some kind of after school special? It would be funny if it wasn’t so unbelievably condescending and infuriating.

“Do you guys realize how you sound?” Peter asked. “You don’t even know him. You just know what you’ve read, or seen on the surface, and now you’ve made your mind up about him. How is he ever supposed to change if we only ever expect the worst from him?”

“Deadpool isn’t a friend you want to have, kid,” Stark said.

“So that’s it, huh? He’s good enough to hire to do the dirty work; when SHIELD needs someone to run in head first to get shot or bombed he’s your guy, but otherwise he’s just trash? Do you even hear yourselves right now? You guys are supposed to be heroes. But all I’m hearing is a bunch of bullies.”

Mr. Stark shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t seem to be willing to take back anything he’s said.

“He’s not the only one who’s killed people. Black Widow and Hawkeye have killed people too. And he’s trying to change just like them. You’re willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, but when it comes to him you won’t let him change? No wonder he slips up, there’s no one there to keep him from falling.”

“His ‘slip-ups’, kid, are murders,” Stark said.

“He’s trying to change. He is changing!” Peter insisted.

“That’s nice that he’s made a pinky promise with you, but what happens in the long-term, huh? What happens when he falls off the wagon and hurts someone? And it is going to happen. It’s just a matter of time.” Mr. Stark said it with such certainty that it made Peter doubt Wade for a second, and then he felt nauseous at his own doubt.

“You’re wrong.”

Apparently Cap took Peter’s annoyance as a sign he should change tactics.

“We just worry he might be taking advantage of you,” Steve said.

“Excuse me?”

If Peter hadn’t been angry before, he sure was now. What exactly were they implying?

“He could be using your reputation to get SHIELD and other agencies off his back,” Black Widow explained. “He can’t erase his reputation entirely because he’s too high-profile, but he can try to… edit it.”

“You think he’s using me for my reputation? Shouldn’t he have chosen a real hero then? Not a ‘menace’ like me. I have the worst press.”

“It’s true that the Daily Bugle doesn’t exactly love Spider-Man, but most people realize you’re a good guy,” Cap explained.

“I can’t listen to this bullshit!”

He hated that the people who had been his heroes so long turned out to be hypocrites. They’d rehabilitate people and forgive crimes, but only when it was their people. It reminded him too much of being back in high school. They were the “in” group, and anyone on the outs didn’t get the same consideration they did.

He hated that part of him still wanted to be an Avenger. A small voice at the back of his head that said Deadpool would understand if he had to cut off their public interactions for the sake of him joining the Avengers. That made him feel even worse, because he knew Wade would make that sacrifice for him.  But Peter could never ask that of him.

He hated that the Avengers made him, for a second, doubt Wade. 

He knew that Deadpool had killed people, and that before that Wade killed people for a living as well. They’d talked about his past, and between what Peter had heard from others and from Wade himself, he thought he had a pretty good picture of the bloodshed and chaos Deadpool had caused.

He also knew why Deadpool did the things he did. He was doing good the only way he knew how, the only way he thought he could. They’d had many discussions about the morality of killing criminals.

Spider-Man and Deadpool agreed to disagree on that point, but despite Wade not necessarily understanding why Spider-Man held so tightly to the idea that no one deserved to die, he changed because he knew it was important to Spider-Man.

So it made him feel horrible to doubt Wade.

Peter swung out of the tower in a rage, not bothering to stick around for the rest of the Avengers' intervention. At first he just swung away, hoping to find something to take his mind off of it. He made a few holes in a building with his feet and then felt bad, so he made a note to go back there to help the owner fix it later.

Then he got worked up all over again when he swung past the hot dog stand he frequented and the guy running it asked where his “better half” was, saying he owed Deadpool a free hot dog.

Peter went back to the tower later that night and webbed up a message for the Avengers. He wasn’t super proud of it. May likely wouldn’t approve, but he felt justified. And it wasn’t like it wouldn’t dissolve after a while. They’d just have to deal with their new sign for a little bit. Besides, “Douche-vengers” wasn’t the worst thing he could have written.


	14. G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doombots attack New York. Spidey and Deadpool have a bit of a lie-down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blink and you'll miss the "Scrubs" reference.

Two weeks after the shitstorm of a meeting with the Avengers ,  which left Peter feeling righteously angry, and probably left the Avengers baffled about why he was so angry with them , there was a big fight downtown that required all hands on deck. 

It was in the middle of punching a Doombot that Peter found himself half wondering why anyone would choose to continue living in New York given the inordinate amount of times aliens or robots or alien robots decided to attack, and half seething about the Avengers and their douchebaggery. He was a good multi-tasker.

Peter was fighting and webbing up enemies, careful to stay away from the Avengers because he was still pissed at them. It was probably a little petty, but so far it didn’t seem like any of them needed his help, so he felt okay with being petty. Hawkeye was picking off Doombots from some perch up high, if the arrows randomly taking down the bots everyone once in a while were any indication. Ironman was corralling the Doombots in so Captain and the Hulk could take them down. And Black Widow stopped any stragglers.

Peter and Deadpool were doing their own thing as usual, because they didn’t have fancy formations like the Avengers, and the Avengers hadn't given Deadpool a comm, so he had no way of getting direction from them anyway.

Peter was too far away to stop it in time. He saw Deadpool take care of a Doombot that had been trying to sneak up on Captain America–well he said sneak, but Doombots were about as sneaky as the Hulk—Cap was busy arguing with Ironman in the comms. Deadpool dispatched the Doombot without Cap even noticing that he’d come so close to being attacked. 

The problem was that Deadpool’s save left him open to attack, and before Peter could warn him or get to him, two Doombots shot him at once. The shots threw Deadpool a couple yards. 

Peter finished webbing up the Doombots next to him, before he shot a web to swing himself over to Deadpool’s still form. Cap was still fighting a couple Doombots and arguing into his comms, and unaware of his fallen comrade. In fact, no one seemed to have noticed Deadpool, although Peter couldn’t be sure because he didn’t have a comm himself.

He kicked back a Doombot that was getting a little too close and webbed it down before making his way to Deadpool’s side. He knelt down and reached out to check his pulse. It was hard to tell through the layers of Deadpool’s suit and Peter’s own suit, but he couldn’t find one.

He looked around to see there weren’t any Doombots nearby. His spidey sense would let him know if any made their way over. Ironman was still dealing with a small crowd a block or two away, but Peter saw Captain America already making his way over to help. They didn’t need him right now. And maybe he was still feeling a little grumpy with them still.

He lay down beside Deadpool’s still body, and settled in to wait for the other man to come back. He’d gotten a song stuck in his head. Fergie of all things. He blamed Wade. The last time Peter and he had been hanging out he’d heard the man singing a little bit of it, and now he couldn’t shake it.

“G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S, yeah. G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S. We flyin’ first class,” he sang. He couldn’t remember all the words so he half hummed, half sang the words to himself.

He heard the mechanical clangs of Doombots being punched a little ways away, and the sounds of Doombots declaring that they would destroy their foes. Doom needed to give his bots some new material. It got old to have the same old villain diatribe every time. At least give them some fun references to make, or maybe change up the accent.

“And now I’m first class, up in the sky. Bottle of champagne, livin’ the life in the fast lane. I won’t change.”

Peter kicked his feet in time to the tune in his head. He saw a Doombot go flying up above, and heard it fall down somewhere off to the side.

“You deserve nothin’ but all the finer things. Now this whole world has no clue what to do with us. I got enough bank in the money to support just the two of us.”

He didn’t know how long it normally took Deadpool to regenerate, but he was content to wait. He felt a flutter from his spidey sense, and barely glanced to the side before shooting a web toward an approaching Doombot, temporarily blinding it. He saw an arrow go through its head stopping its approach.

“So if you ain’t got no money take your broke—”

A groan cut him off. He turned to see Deadpool’s body twitch, and the other man’s hand reach up to his own head.

“Motherfucker,” Deadpool swore softly. “Hello brain damage my old friend.” He talked quietly and the words were slurred like he couldn’t control his own speech. 

Peter was fairly certain he hadn’t noticed that Spider-Man was laying down beside him.

“Hey,” Peter said, waving his hand to get Deadpool’s attention before things could get any more creepy.

Deadpool jumped, but then he relaxed when he caught sight of Peter. He still looked wary though.

“Spidey? What are you doing here?” Deadpool asked. “Didja get major cranial trauma too?” 

Deadpool’s words were a little clumsy, like he couldn’t quite control his motor function. Peter wondered if it was always like this after a head wound. He was ashamed to say he’d never really paid attention when Deadpool got hurt. He always figured that because the guy healed it didn’t matter.

Deadpool reached out, and Peter had to bat aside an attempted poke to his head.

“You got knocked out, so I laid down next to you so people would just think we were chilling,” Peter said. 

He made no move to get up, and Deadpool didn’t seem to be ready to stand up just yet either.

“My man,” Deadpool said appreciatively. “Wait, is the fight over then?” Deadpool looked around, and Peter saw Ironman send a couple more propulsor blasts at about a half dozen Doombots trying to corner him.

“Just about,” Peter says. “They’ve probably got it covered.” He said, trying to keep the anger from his voice, he must not have succeeded, though, because Deadpool looked over at him with his brows furrowed.

“Something up with you and New York’s favorite boy band?”

“Something like that,” Peter said vaguely.

“What did they do? The Hulk put nair in your shampoo? Wait, wait, no let me guess. You replaced Captain America’s moisturizer with foot cream.”

“No. Also, I’m pretty sure that last one’s from ‘Mean Girls’.”

“Then what’s up?” Deadpool asked, joking tone gone. “It’s never good when you’ve got superheroes fighting. That’s just begging for the destruction of at least half of the city. I mean look at Civil War, and that wasn’t even a full-on fight.”

Peter ignored the odd bit at the end that made no sense, because Deadpool often said weird nonsensical things.

“We had a...disagreement,” Peter said finally. “They invited me to the Tower, and I thought they were going to give me a pat on the back or something.”

Peter played with one of the web-shooters at his wrist.

“Let me guess, it didn’t go quite like that?” Deadpool prompted.

“They invited me to become an Avenger.”

“Wait, what? That’s awesome! Dude, congratulations. I knew you were Avengers material,” Deadpool cheered excitedly, and then he seemed to do a double-take. “Wait, then why are you pissed with them? Oh god, was it just a prank. Those dicks!” He moved like he was going to get up, but Peter stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“No. The offer was real,” Peter reassured him.

Deadpool reluctantly stayed laying down. Peter retracted his arm.

“Then what happened?” Deadpool looked a little murderous, but he didn’t seem like he was likely to run off and skewer the Avengers.

“What happened is these people I thought were heroes, these people I’ve looked up to since I was a kid are complete and utter douchebags,” Peter said, getting angry just thinking about his last meeting with the Avengers. “Like they’re so perfect. They want to pretend they’re better than everyone else. Who are they to tell me who to hang out with? They’re not my parents, they’re not my bosses. When it’s convenient they’re happy to use someone, but apparently they’re too good to associate with them.”

“I’m lost,” Deadpool said. “So they invited you to join their secret club, but you had to what, ditch one of your friends? Why?”

Peter sent a mental glare to Captain America and the other Avengers.

Peter hadn’t known Deadpool very long, but he already knew how much the other man looked up to the Avengers. He didn’t want to have to tell Deadpool what was said about him.

Apparently he didn’t have to say anything. Deadpool, curse his perceptiveness, read the situation correctly anyway.

“Wait, they talked to you about me, right? Why would they do that?”

“Right?!” Peter said, not able to keep his voice down in his anger. “It’s none of their business. I don’t think I’ve ever had the urge to kick an Avenger before, but I was seriously reconsidering it.”

“Exactly. Why would they think you’d care?” Deadpool asked.

“We’re buddies,” Peter said. He didn’t want Wade thinking Spider-Man didn’t like being around him. 

“I’m probably the last person you should be friends with. The Avengers are right. I’m bad news.”

“Thanks for the tip, Edward Cullen, but I can make my own decisions. No one’s gonna tell me who I can and cannot be friends with. Not the Avengers, and not you,” Peter said sternly.

“I’m going to hug you now whether you want it or not,” Wade said, but contrary to what he said, he gave Peter plenty of room to avoid the hug. Peter didn’t.


	15. Are We Friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade have a talk. There's angst and fluff. (Also, Peter feels guilty about being a lying liar who lies).

It was a testament to how odd Peter’s life had become that when he came home to find Deadpool sitting on his couch, he hardly batted an eye. He shrugged off his backpack, toed off his shoes, and made his way to the kitchen.

“Want some tea?” Peter asked, because he didn’t just drink hot chocolate. Okay, so he did drink an inordinate amount of the stuff, but that was just because it was warm and sweet and comforting. 

“Hell yes! Do you have any of that spicy chai left? I’m asking to be polite, but really I went through the cupboards earlier so I know you have some.” Wade trailed after him a bit like a puppy coming to greet his owner when they come home.

“Okay,” Peter said, “One spicy chai coming right up.”

“You’re the best, Petey.”

Once he made the tea Wade made grabby hands for the cup.

“Geez. Who gave you crack? You’re like a kid that got into daddy’s meth lab,” Peter commented.

“It’s just been a good week,” Wade said, rolling up his mask without hesitation and taking a sip.

He swore.

“Wait for it to cool off,” Peter scolded.

“Yeah, thanks for that. I think my tongue just got third-degree burns. At least now it’ll match the rest of me,” Wade said.

They made their way back to the couch.

“You’re a grown man. You should be able to police your own tongue,” Peter said.

Peter instantly regretted the innuendo he left himself open to.

“I’d rather you police my tongue,” Deadpool said, leering exaggeratedly at him.

Peter gave him a shove as he reached over to get the remote, and Wade splashed some of the hot tea onto his leg.

“Shit,” Wade said. He muttered something about teasing.

“What brings you to my humble abode?” Peter asked, turning on the episode they’d left off on last time.

“Just felt like hanging with my best pal,” Wade said, but his excited bouncing in his seat said otherwise.

“Uh-huh,” Peter said skeptically.

Peter took a moment to look over Wade’s suit. It didn’t look particularly dirty or beaten up, so he must have cleaned up since the fight the other day. Or maybe he had a whole closet of alternate Deadpool suits.

Peter had the sudden image of Wade hunched over a table hand-sewing kevlar onto his suit.

“Just felt like hanging out,” Wade repeated.

It was another couple minutes, during which Wade kept fidgeting and grinning, before he finally broke.

“Spidey and I are friends!”

“What?”

Deadpool’s grin was wide.

“Spidey and I are totally besties. There was this big Doombot thing downtown, and I took a hit. I was down for a while, and when I came back, he was there. And he was just so nice. He laid there next to my dead body until I woke up. I mean, at least I think he did. Part of that might have been hallucinated.”

“I don’t think it was. I saw the fight on the news,” Peter reassured him.

“Anyway, I always knew Spidey was good. Really good. He stayed with me while I healed, and made sure I got home okay. He’s a real hero,” Deadpool sounded both amazed and slightly worshipful.

Peter was equal parts flattered, and slightly uncomfortable.

“And get this! He told me that the douche-vengers told him to steer clear of me, because I’m a bad boy who's gonna corrupt their angel or something. They wanted him to ditch me, and he turned them down. He told them to suck it. The Avengers. For me.”

Wade grinned, and Peter felt a wave of fondness towards the man. If he had any doubt that he’d made the right choice with the Avengers, that doubt was gone knowing how happy he’d made Wade. It was sad that even this slight gesture of friendship was so foreign to the other man.

“And we hugged!” Wade yelled in excitement.

Wade seemed determined to ride the high of his encounter with Spider-Man. But the more he talked about Spider-Man, the more Peter’s stomach twisted up into knots. It didn’t feel right to be lying to Wade like this, and as much as Peter tried to tell himself he wasn’t lying, he wasn’t being all that truthful either. It especially hurt given how much Wade trusted him. The man was sharing his feelings, and what did Peter give him in return?

The thought of sharing his identity with Wade made his stomach hurt too though. No good ever came from people being tangled up in Spider-Man’s life. People just got hurt that way. And even knowing that Wade was already tangled up in it, didn’t make it easier. Peter knew eventually he wanted to share his identity. But maybe he could keep it just a little bit longer.

In true Parker fashion, rather than dealing with the issue, Peter tried to shift the conversation to something that didn’t make his stomach hurt.

“Do you want to come over for dinner sometime?”

Deadpool stopped mid-ramble.

“I mean– My aunt wants to make you dinner,” Peter said.

“That’s very forward of her. I don’t even know her,” Wade said, tone still joking, but he looked like Peter had smacked him across the face.

“I may have mentioned that you helped me out.” Peter resolutely did not say anything about the roof. “And she asked me to bring you over for dinner as a thank you.”

“Nothing says thanks like cold hard cash,” Wade teased.

“I’m serious.”

Wade said shifted away, his feet pointed toward the door like he was ready to make a break for it.

“Hi, Serious, I’m Deadpool.”

Peter huffed.

“Why are we friends?” Wade asked, tone serious.

The sudden question sent a stab of fear through Peter. This was it. Wade finally realized that Peter was too messed up, and Wade didn’t want anything more to do with him. 

“I mean, I know what I get outta this. I get to feel like someone actually cares. I get to pretend to be normal for a little bit. But what do you get out of it?” 

“Wade,” Peter said softly.

Never had Peter wished more that he could hear the boxes. He wanted to find anyone who had ever told Wade he wasn’t good enough and give them a sound talking to, or just punch them in the face, but he couldn’t do that, so he settled for trying to tell Wade how he feels.

“I mean, I’m old–I don’t even know how old–I’m batshit, and I’ve killed people all my life. What about that screams best buddy? Why are you hanging around me anyway?”

He put his hand on Wade’s shoulder, waiting for Wade’s focus to shift back to him. It took a couple moments, but Wade finally looked up at him. Peter couldn’t see his eyes behind the mask, so he couldn’t quite read his expression. He wanted to ask Wade to take it off, but he knew that probably wouldn’t help the situation.

“You wanna know why I’m your friend?”

Wade scratched at the side of his mask, and Peter could see him shuffle on his feet like he’d been thinking about making a run for it. Before he could, Peter reached over and pulled Wade onto the couch beside him. He kept his hand on Wade’s arm, partially to comfort him, and partially to keep him from bolting.

“Do you know what I was like before we met on that roof?” Peter asked. He saw Wade tilt his head like he was trying to figure out where this was going.

“I wasn’t good, Wade.”

Peter thought back to the nights of sitting alone in his apartment and listening to the same song on repeat until the numbness went away, until he could finally cry. He thought about the dozens of texts he never got back to until the few friends he had understandably stopped contacting him altogether.

“I was a mess. I barely left the apartment. I probably didn’t sleep enough, definitely didn’t eat enough.”

Wade made a noise of agreement. He’d seen the pitiful state of Peter’s fridge. Peter brought his hand down to Wade’s hand and reflexively Wade’s fingers parted to interlock with his.

“I’d isolated myself from all my friends, and from May. I had nothing, and I just kept seeing him, and feeling him...And I felt so hopeless.” He felt his throat stop up at the memory of sitting at his desk after another nightmare and looking down at a blank piece of paper trying to figure out how to write a good-bye to May.

“I wanted it all to be over,” Peter whispered.

Wade gave Peter’s fingers a squeeze.

“I just wanted to stop feeling like that. So I went up to that roof every day for a week–” Wade made a startled noise “–and every day I sat down on the edge with a note in my pocket, and every day I thought about jumping. I was trying to work up the courage that night you found me.”

“Petey–”

“No. Let me finish. I need to say this,” Peter said.

Wade shut his mouth, and gave Peter’s leg a gentle nudge with his knee, as though to urge him to continue. Peter let out a shaky breath.

“I’m not gonna say that you saved me, because it’s not that simple, and for another reason that’s way too much pressure to put on you. I’m not going to put my mental state on you– that’s not fair. But you definitely helped me start to feel better. You were the first person to reach out to me.” He tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted to say this just right. He didn’t want to mess up the only semi-stable relationship in his life.

“When you showed up on that rooftop, at first I thought you were super annoying.”

Wade huffed a laugh.

“Like, super annoying. But then you bought me pancakes, and gave me enough leftovers to feed me for a week– thank you for that by the way– and you were there. And you kept being there. You listened to me, and you made sure I was eating, and you looked out for me. And you just… stuck around. I don’t think you get how much that meant to me.”

Peter could feel the words getting easier. He still felt naked talking so openly about his emotions, but he wanted to thank Wade, and he wanted Wade to know how much he appreciated him.

“And then you just kept being so understanding and patient. And you didn’t treat me like I was broken or… dirty, and you just kept being there. And I don’t think you saved me or anything, because no one can really do that, but you helped me have a little hope again.”

He smiled and looked up to see Wade staring back at him.

“I’m sorry, can I just—” Peter reaches out to touch the edge of the mask, but he doesn’t pull it up just yet. “I’m feeling a little awkward here not being able to see you.”

Wade sighed. Peter saw his shoulders slump as though in resignation.

“You don’t have to,” Peter assured him.

If possible, Wade’s shoulder sunk even further down.

Peter heard him whisper something that sounded like “Maximum effort” and then he tugged his mask off. Before Peter could process what was happening, Wade’s head was bare. The first thing that Peter noticed was Wade’s blue eyes. 

The upper half of his face looked much like the lower half; it was covered in scars that were angry and red looking. Wearing the mask all the time clearly wasn’t doing any favors for his scars. Peter was surprised to see that Wade was bald, and in fact his brows were bare as well. Peter could make out laugh lines around his eyes. Peter could almost make out the face that used to be there.

Wade glanced up at Peter, but then he looked at the coffee table.

Peter wasn’t sure what the right reaction was here. The scars didn’t bother him, but clearly they bothered Wade.

“Shut up. We were trying to make him comfortable,” Wade muttered in the way Peter had grown to read as him arguing with the boxes.

“Well it worked,” Peter said. He’d been so caught up in finally seeing Wade’s eyes, that he’d nearly forgotten the conversation they’d been having.

“Well you’re not vomiting, that’s a plus.”

Peter couldn’t tell if the vomiting comment was meant to be a joke or if it was based on experience.

“I can’t fix your self-esteem issues,” Peter said, stumbling over the words now that he could see Wade’s unfaltering gaze on him. “No matter how much I wish I could. But I can tell you how I feel. You’re my friend, Wade, probably my best friend at this point– don’t tell Ned that though– and I want you to keep being my friend. And I get that sometimes your brain’s a dick and tells you no one wants you around, so if I need to keep reminding you, I can.”

Wade was absolutely silent. He had a big, shit-eating grin, but he still didn’t say anything. Peter tried to pull his hand away, worried that maybe he got too deep, but Wade refused to relinquish his hand.

“Say something, please, because I’m feeling kind of stupid and awkward right now, and like I should probably apologize for being weirdly intense,” Peter said finally, not able to handle the odd intense silence.

“You love me,” Wade said, grinning.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“You are head over grody ass converse in love with me.”

“I hardly even know you,” Peter joked.

“Petey and Wadey sitting in a tree—”

“Did I say best friend? I meant vague acquaintance,” Peter made a show of trying to pry apart their hands.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Wade sang.

“And maybe not even that. Really we might be enemies.”

“First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes Peteypool in a baby carriage.”

“No,” Peter said with a mock glare. “There will be no Peteypool.”

Wade grinned at him, and he whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “Spideypool”. Peter rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

“I’m hugging you!” Wade announced. And as always, there was a brief pause as Wade moved in for the hug. He bounced on his feet, and despite his words he made no move to hug. Peter stepped that little bit closer, and held out his arms. 

Wade still hesitated.

Finally, Peter threw himself into Wade’s arms, knocking them both of them back into the arm of the couch.

“Oof. For such a little thing you sure pack a punch.”

Wade’s arms squeezed pleasantly around him. He tucked his face into Wade’s chest and sunk into the hug.

“‘M not little,” Peter said, mouth smooshed against the front of Wade’s suit.

“Sure thing, tiny.”

Peter huffed, and then bit Wade. Wade yelped, but he kept hugging Peter.

“Teeny tiny’s got teeth,” Wade said.

“Teeny tiny’s gonna bite you again in a minute,” Peter warned.

“You lurve me,” Wade said. But this time his tone was less mocking and sounded more amazed.

Peter didn’t correct him and instead snuggled more into his chest.

“I guess dinner with your aunt wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“That’s the enthusiasm I like to hear,” Peter teased.

Peter felt his cheeks warm when Wade pressed a kiss into his hair.

“Spidey lurves me too!” Wade yelled.

Peter couldn’t ignore the pit in his stomach. He’d put off the secret identity issue for now, but eventually he’d have to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Check out Gensyz's [twitter](https://twitter.com/Gensyzart) to see more of their art)


	16. Dinner at May's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool comes to May's for dinner. It's an interesting night.

Peter showed up with soft-baked cookies and ice cream to cover all the dessert bases. He was hoping to ease any social tension with dessert, but he was sure it wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Wade was incredibly charming when he wanted to be. 

The dessert probably had more to do with assuaging his guilt. Lately, he’d been better about keeping in contact with May, but they still weren’t back to how they used to be, and he knew it was his fault. Maybe if he showed her he was making friends and getting out of his apartment, she wouldn’t have to worry so much about him. She didn’t need any extra stress in her life.

Peter made sure he got to May’s early. He wanted to have time to prepare her. Because even though he’d managed to talk Wade down from wearing the Deadpool suit to dinner, he still insisted on the mask. He didn’t want May getting surprised and thinking there was a robber at the door, or worse, she might recognize his mask and get the wrong idea about what kind of man Wade was.

“He’s kinda…different,” Peter explained. How did one prepare someone to meet Deadpool?

“He’s one of those superhero types, right?” she asked. “It takes a little bit of eccentricity to dress up in spandex. Tell him it’s okay if he covers his face. I know superheroes have secret identities to keep.”

“Yeah. That’s not exactly…Do you know Deadpool?” Peter asked.

“That man who killed all those people on that bridge a couple years ago? Oh dear, is he back?” May’s brow was furrowed.

Peter sighed.

“May, he never left. And he didn’t just… he didn’t just kill all those people. It’s a little more complicated than that. He wasn’t in his right mind.”

Okay, time to change topics, otherwise this dinner was going to go downhill before it even started.

“He’s changed. You know how Black Widow used to be an assassin?”

May nodded, looking skeptical.

“Deadpool is learning to be better. He’s not killing people anymore. I hear he’s even teaming up with Spider-Man,” Peter barrelled on ahead.

May stared at Peter for a long time. Peter had to resist the urge to shift under her gaze.

“He’s trying to be a better person,” Peter insisted.

“I don’t like the idea of you associating with someone so dangerous, but I suppose everyone deserves a second chance,” May said.

Peter sighed in relief.

“Thank you. That’s all I’m asking, that you give him a chance.”

May looked at him with a gleam in her eye, and a smile.

“Only because he’s important to you.”

Wade was a half hour late, and Peter was beginning to think he wasn’t coming entirely. He tried texting the man, and calling him, but there was no answer. The later it got, the more worried Peter became.

“He probably just forgot,” Peter explained, laughing nervously, hoping to Thor that was true.

Wade couldn’t be killed permanently, but he could be slowed down. Or maybe someone had kidnapped him. Peter internally promised himself that if Wade didn’t show up in the next fifteen minutes, he’d make some excuse to leave and put on his suit to track him down.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Peter was about to have a work emergency, or nausea, he couldn’t quite decide, when someone knocked at the door. Peter rushed to the door, getting there before Aunt May could.

When he opened it, he did a double-take. Wade was wearing his suit, smelling like he hadn’t washed it in weeks. Over it he had one of those shirts with the fake sexy bikini body on it. Wade had been texting Peter nonstop, agonizing over what to wear so May would like him, and this was what he settled on?

“You must be Deadpool,” May greeted, smiling despite the frankly awful sight Wade was making. “Come in.”

“Yo! You must be Pete’s aunt. Pete, you didn’t say your aunt was hot! Seriously, if one or both of us were ten years younger...”

Peter winced.

“How about we eat?” Peter said, wanting to change the subject.

May turned to lead the way back to the table.

Wade stomped into the apartment, leaving muddy boot-prints in his wake.

“Wade, what’s up?” Peter tried to ask, but Wade brushed past him.

Wade took the head of the table, and right away put his boots up on the chair next to his. May didn’t make any comment, but Peter glared at his rudeness. He shoved Wade’s feet off the chair.

“What?” Wade hissed.

May started dishing up the food onto everyone’s plates, and Peter jumped to help. Wade just sat there.

“This looks good, May,” Peter said.

May smiled back at him.

Wade made a big production of rolling up his mask. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he didn’t care about the scars, but Peter recognized it as a coping mechanism. It was like Wade thought if he made a spectacle of himself first then it wouldn’t hurt as much when people made fun of him. 

Wade started wolfing down the food. May, ever polite, said nothing about his terrible table manners.

It was odd to see Wade so quiet. He wasn’t completely silent by any means—he made loud chewing noises—but he wasn’t speaking.

May was the one to break the silence.

“So how did you two meet?” May asked. “Peter said something about you helping him. I bet that’s an exciting story.”

Peter tried to catch Wade’s eyes, gesturing as subtly as he could to lie. He didn’t want to worry May with the truth.

“Funny story actually,” Wade said. Peter saw Wade’s mouth twist up in an almost maniacal grin. “Picture this, late New York night. The top of the Brooklyn Point. I was the foxy, stacked blonde in the corner. He was the hot young thing doing his best Greg Louganis impression, circa 1984. "

“I’m not sure I understand,” May said, looking understandably flustered.

“Greg Louganis? I thought I’d chosen a pretty easy reference this time. He’s a famous diver. You know, likes to jump off of things—”

“Enough!” Peter slammed his hands on the table.

Wade jumped a little, his grin slipping.

“May, would you excuse me and my guest for a moment?”

Peter didn’t wait to hear May’s response. He walked around to where Wade was sprawled across the two chairs and hauled him up, using a bit of Spidey strength to manhandle Wade out of the chairs and into the hallway. 

Once they were out of earshot of May, he spoke again.

“What is wrong with you? You show up a half hour late, and then you act like a jerk. You don’t even bother cleaning yourself up.” Peter jabbed a finger at Wade’s chest, where there was a stain on the left boob. “You eat like a pig, and say hardly one word to May. Then this?! Why are you acting like such a dick?”

Peter panted. He’d thought they were starting to get along. What had he done wrong? Why was Wade being such a jerk?

“It’s your fault,” Wade said, jabbing his finger into Peter’s chest, in a mirror of Peter’s earlier move.

“My fault?”

“Yeah. With your whole, ‘we’re bestest buddies’, ‘come meet my totally normal aunt’. I’m not normal. Deadpool isn’t someone you take home to meet the family. I’m a murderer. Fuck, you shouldn’t even be talking to someone like me.”

Peter felt stupid. He should have known this all came down to Wade’s shitty self-esteem. Their fights usually did.

He took a deep breath, and swiped a hand down his face, trying to force down his annoyance.

“Did you really act like a dick because you were trying to push me away?” Peter asked through clenched teeth.

Before Wade could speak, Peter put a finger on his mouth, shushing him.

“That is the single stupidest thing you’ve done. Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take off this stupid shirt.” Peter tugged at the offending shirt. “You’re going to take off your shoes and put them by the door, and then we’re going back in there to have a nice, pleasant dinner. You’re going to apologize to May, and thank her for the food, and act like a complete gentleman. So help me if you don’t!”

Wade looked suitably scolded.

“If you can’t do that, then please leave,” Peter said, gesturing to the door.

For a moment, Peter thought Wade might go. He frowned, and turned his head, like he was considering leaving, but then he sighed. Peter watched as he pulled the stupid shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Then Wade made a show of leaning down to unlace his shoes and put them by the door.

“You know, you’re kinda sexy when you’re scary,” Wade said, following Peter back to the table.

Peter blushed.

“Behave,” Peter hissed.

May was waiting at the table with a frown. Peter made his way to his chair, and Wade followed behind, looking like a dog waiting to get smacked on the nose with a newspaper.

“I want to apologize for my behavior, Miss Parker,” Wade began.

Wow, Wade wasn’t going to do this apology halfway. He called May “Miss” and everything.

“I shouldn’t have said those things. You and Peter deserve way better than that. And I shouldn’t have worn that shirt. Actually, I should have put on a suit or something,” Wade continued. He stopped, and looked down at his filthy Deadpool suit. “A tux maybe. Or that dress I got last week. It’s probably more formal. It’s all swishy and white, and it makes my legs look amazing. Very Marilyn—”

“Wade,” Peter interrupted, hoping to cut off Wade’s anxious rambling.

Wade snapped to attention.

“Right, apologizing,” Wade said, as though to redirect his train of thought. “I’m sorry.”

The whole time Wade spoke, May had been silent, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Peter saw Wade shift on his feet uncomfortably under her gaze. As someone who had been on the receiving end of May’s stern looks, he knew how scary it could be.

“Thank you for apologizing, Wade,” May said. “How about we start over?” She offered him a smile, and Peter saw the tense line of Wade’s shoulders relax.

Peter nudged Wade’s chair out, and Wade sat himself down. May calmly dished out some more food onto each of their plates.

“So, ten years younger?” May asked.

“Oh please, of course I was lying. I’d be on that in a minute,” Wade said, giving May a wink.

“Please stop hitting on my aunt,” Peter said, face-planting next to his plate, and groaning.

He heard Wade and May laugh, and he couldn’t help but grin into the table. Maybe this dinner wouldn’t turn out so bad.

The rest of the dinner went without incident. Once Wade had calmed down, he started to act more normally—well, normal for him. He told stories about some of his tamer missions, and by the end of the night he’d charmed May. 

They stayed for dessert, and then May sent them on their way with leftovers, hugs, and a promise that they would visit again. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Peter said, lingering on May’s doorstep. He wasn’t quite ready to part ways, even though he knew he’d be seeing Wade later for patrol. “Minus, the first part of the night,” Peter amended.

It was dark on the street, and Wade’s mask was still rolled up from dinner, so Peter could see the smile on his face.

“We should,” Wade said. “Now that I know you’ve been hiding your hot aunt from me—Hey!”


	17. Puppies!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to give you Deadpool's POV for a chapter. He has a rough day. Also, there are puppies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note about the boxes:  
>  **[White Box]**  
>  _ **Yellow Box**_

It had been a rough day for Deadpool. He dropped his taco when a pigeon decided to get all up in his face and insult him—at least that’s what it sounded like it was trying to do, but he couldn’t be sure because he didn’t speak bird.

**[Maybe Hawkeye could have translated?]**

Anyway, so it had been a crap day. He lost a taco, got yelled at by some old lady for trying to help her cross the street.

**_Should have capped the ungrateful bitch_** _._

“Thanks, Yellow box, but we don’t need your help with catching the readers up,” Deadpool interjected. 

To be fair to the old lady, he did try to pick her up, and now that he thought about it she might not have even been trying to cross that way.

**_But White got to talk too!_ **

On top of all this crap Wade had gotten yelled at by Captain frickin’ America for doing a job that SHIELD hired him to take care of. Then, when Captain High Horse finally realized it was a SHIELD mission, the bastard didn’t even apologize for basically calling Deadpool human excrement. Oh well, it’s not like Deadpool had feelings or anything!

So yeah, he was feeling crappy, and self-pitying and generally pathetic. This day would definitely end with a chubby hubby ice cream pig-out on his couch while he watched Gilmore Girls—the later seasons because he didn’t deserve the good ones—until his eyes burned.

“But first, puppies!” Deadpool declared, thrusting a fist up in the air.

A man in a suit walking by stared at him like he was crazy.

“What a monster. Who doesn’t like puppies?” Wade mused.

**_He should be shot._ **

**[Focus. Puppies.]**

With a little guidance from White, Wade made his way in the right direction. Hopefully, he’d get there without incident.

He hadn’t gone two blocks before a blur of red and blur came down from the sky.

**[Heads-up!]**

Spider-Man landed lightly on his feet just a few feet from Wade.

“Hey there,” Spidey greeted, offering Wade a little wave.

**_Pretend you didn’t see him._ **

Spidey was already making his way over though, and there was no luck of slipping away.

“Sorry, Spidey. I’d love to hang, but I’ve got things to do,” Deadpool said. 

As much as he treasured patrolling with Spidey—nothing beat getting to be the spider-monkey on Spidey’s back—he didn’t think he’d be able to handle facing the public right now. Particularly the part of patrolling where civilians ran away from him screaming. Okay, so that might have been a teensy bit of an exaggeration. They didn’t always scream, sometimes they cried or puked. But the point still stood.

**_It’s because they know you’re psychotic._ **

“Good point, Yellow. And that’s exactly why I’m going to see the puppies, because they don’t care about that. Puppies don’t judge.”

At the mention of puppies Spider-Man seemed to perk up. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging right about now.

**[Ugh. Furries.]**

**_Don’t kinkshame me!_ **

Wade mentally told them to both shut it, and table the discussion for a later date.

“Puppies?” Spider-Man said. His voice went all high and excited, and Wade could hear the smile. It was nothing like the deep voice he put on sometimes when they patrolled. 

Spider-Man’s head tilted to the side, and my god if he didn’t look like an excited golden retriever.

**[Serious? Again with the dog analogies.]**

**_The fuck is an analogy?_ **

“I’d pay to see that AU, Spidey with puppy ears and a tail,” Wade commented absently.

**[You’re both idiots.]**

“I’m not sure what an AU is, but you said something about puppies?” Spider-Man sounded hopeful.

“Yeah, I was gonna hit up the puppy shelter. Well, not hit up, that sounds sorta violent doesn’t it? I mean I was gonna go faceplant into a pile of puppies and hopefully suffocate in their fluff,” Wade said. “So I’m just gonna...do that.”

Wade turned to walk away, because although he loved his Spidey-babe he needed to get to those puppies, ASAP. 

A hand on his arm stopped him. Wade thankfully managed to reign in the gut instinct to stab whoever was touching him, and instead he looked down to see a familiar red-clad arm. Wade turned back, and Spider-Man retracted his hand. Wade saw him shift like he was uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Spider-Man said, holding up his hand as if to apologize for the touching. “Can I—uh—” Spider-Man scratched at the back of his head awkwardly. “Can I come with? I’ve had a crummy day, between my day job work, and my essay not uploading, which was crap but my professor said I’d have to lose a letter grade, and then I find this complete jerk trying to rob an old lady. I mean, an old lady, can you believe that?!”

Spider-Man seemed to catch himself in his rambling, and his mouth snapped shut. He rubbed at the back of his mask, almost sheepishly.

“Anyway, puppies. Minus the suffocating, that actually sounds awesome. That is...if you wouldn’t mind the company?” 

Wade couldn’t see Spidey’s eyes through the mask, and he’d actually never seen them without the mask, but he’d bet dollars to doughnuts that they were wide and puppy-like right now.

**[Again with the puppies. You seriously need to figure your shit out.]**

Wade was a little stunned. Was this really happening? Did Spider-Man just ask him to go on a puppy date with him? Okay, to be fair he asked to tag along on Wade’s puppy playdate, but potato tomato, he would take it.

“Yes! You can come. To the puppies, I mean. Come with me to the puppies. Sure thing, Webs,” Wade said.

Spider-Man smiled, and Wade felt himself melt a little. Just like that, the day went from absolute shitstorm to milder shitstorm.

“Lead the way, Pool,” Spider-Man said, falling into step with Wade.

Normally they webbed to places, and sometimes Wade teleported alongside Spider-Man or rode on his back, but today they walked. Spider-Man didn’t offer to swing them there, seeming content with this slower pace. Wade needed the feeling of moving his feet to get out some of his annoyance. Although he’d love to be pressed against Spider-Man’s back, right now it was much more satisfying to slap his boots against the pavement. 

A few people stared, and some stopped to ask for pictures. Wade decidedly did not pout when a woman handed him her phone to help take a photo of her with Spider-Man, and then proceeded to ask him if he was Spider-Man’s sidekick. A few people even complimented him on his “Spider-Man cosplay”. If it were anybody else Deadpool would have felt jealous, but he couldn’t fault people for looking up to Spider-Man. Spidey was just so good and heroic.

When they arrived at the shelter, one of the workers greeted Wade right away. Stan was familiar with Wade. Wade came by fairly regularly, and although he made a show of bringing out his katanas he was fairly certain the threats weren’t necessary. He doubted SHIELD was placing undercover agents in animal shelters to gather information on him. Even if they were, they wouldn’t get any information worth using, beyond knowing how he thought each of the dogs was “very good”. 

The threats were just part of the routine at this point. Threatening people was right up there with puppy cuddling in terms of helping his mood.

Spider-Man made a show of scolding him, but Wade didn’t miss how the hero was distracted by the yipping of dogs in the back.

Stan led them to the back room, helped bring out a half dozen or so dogs, and then left them to their own devices. Wade wasted no time picking up a little baby beagle and pressing his face into her fur.

**_Mmm. New puppy smell._ **

A few of the dogs came right up to Wade, seemingly remembering his scent from the last time he’d come. One brave basset hound made a beeline for Webs and proceeded to drool all over him.

Wade had died and gone to heaven. Spider-Man sat sprawled on the floor with puppies climbing over him. His voice got all cute and high when he talked to the puppies, and he did this funny wobbly laugh when one of them tripped.

“They’re so precious!” Spider-Man said.

**_You’re precious!_ **

“Agreed,” Wade whispered.

Wade picked up two of the dogs and squished them against either side of his face. He needed maximum fluff against his face.

The dogs made their rounds between the two men, going back and forth for pets. Wade kept up a constant litany of praises, and “good boys” and “good girls” that had tails waggling. Spidey seemed to enjoy laying on the ground and letting the dogs climb across him. One cute pitbull with one missing eye that avoided Wade last time spent most of the time pressed to Spidey’s side.

And then suddenly Wade couldn’t help but think about his crappy day. And the crappy day that had preceded it.

“They were torturing them,” Wade said.

It was out of nowhere, so Spidey looked understandably confused.

“I mean, not just normal torture. Not your basic waterboarding or ripping off of toenails,” Wade continued.

Wade could almost smell the antiseptic and fear.

 **_What’s happening? Why are we remembering that?_ ** Yellow sounded distressed.

Spidey tilted his head as if to show that he was listening.

“They were doing experiments on them, seeing if they could make them better, more powerful.”

[ **Cause that worked so well with us.]**

“We didn’t get to them in time. Most of them were a mess. And those were the ones that survived. Not all of them made it,” Wade said quietly. Admitting it out loud hurt more than he thought it would. Most rescue missions didn’t have a hundred percent success rate. That was just the way it was, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

“Was this a mission you went on?” Spidey asked.

Wade nodded.

It felt like Wade’s heart might pound out of his chest. He knew he was here with the dogs and Spidey, but it was hard not to remember the crack of each bone in his fingers, or the burn of chemicals in his veins.

**[Calm the fuck down.]**

Wade clenched his fists, his gloves creaked with the force.

**_It hurt so much, and it never seemed to end. Days and days of it._ **

“Hey, Wade,” Spidey said softly. Wade looked up to see that Spidey had sat up, and he was facing Wade now, looking worried. “You don’t have to talk about this now if you don’t want to.”

It felt like someone had split open Wade’s head and dug out all the bad memories. He needed it to stop. He needed to reset, and stop thinking about it, but he didn’t know how.

Spidey lifted up the puppy he’d been holding and held it out, pressing it into Wade’s chest. At first Wade couldn’t figure out what he was trying to do, but when Spidey nudged him again, Wade saw that he wanted him to hold the dog. 

Wade took a deep breath, and tried to relax his hands. Slowly, he unclenched his fingers and reached up to take the dog from Spidey. Once he had the dog cradled in his arms, and he was sure he wasn’t going to accidentally squeeze the thing, he brought the puppy up and pressed his face into its fur.

**_New puppy smell._ **


	18. Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade try to have sex. Peter freaks out.

Going out with Wade became a regular thing. Don’t get him wrong, Peter was still mostly a shut-in, but he was a shut-in who got regular outings during the week. They didn’t go dancing much after that first time. Clubbing was a little too exhausting to do all the time, so they kept it low-key. They’d go to restaurants and get take-out and then take it back to Wade’s to eat and play video games.

Other times when it was dark enough out and Wade was having a better day, they’d go out for food or to the movie theater and sit in the back row while Wade threw popcorn at the screen and loudly commentated until everyone else left or complained to the manager.

They got into a routine. Peter liked routines. As Spider-Man he could roll with the punches, but when he was plain old Peter, he liked knowing what was going to happen next. He liked being able to prepare himself for things. When it came to Wade though, that wasn’t always possible.

One night, they went out to the movies. There was a horror movie marathon with slashers playing back-to-back, with plenty of half-naked teens and improbable limb chopping for Wade to critique. Peter thought it was either a miracle they hadn’t been banned for life from the theater or, more likely, the employees knew Wade’s reputation, because all they got was a stern look and a half-hearted shushing from the manager when Wade yelled at blond muscle-y teen number two, who was running straight into danger with only a broom handle for protection.

Peter managed to settle him down, and they made it through the rest of the movie. Wade was all set to watch the next three films, but Peter was getting tired, and he wanted to go back to Wade’s and curl up on the couch.

It didn’t take much to convince Wade to leave.

Two words. “Comfy pants.”

Wade called them a cab. The movie theater employees seemed grateful, because they gave Peter a free bag of M&Ms and mouthed “Thank you” as he and Wade left.

Once they got back to Wade’s, they followed their usual routine. Peter went to Wade’s room to change into pajamas, while Wade pulled on whatever he had lying around in the living room. Peter couldn’t tell if it was Wade being nice, or if Wade usually kept half of his wardrobe stashed around the living room and bathroom.

Peter heard the sounds of Wade chatting with the boxes while he puttered around in the kitchen. It was cozy and familiar.

“We’ve got rocky road or cookies and peanut butter,” Wade yelled from the other room.

Before Peter could answer, Wade yelled, “I’m bringing both!”

When Peter came back to the living room Wade had two huge tubs of ice cream. Wade grabbed the rocky road, and sat down on the couch. Peter watched him toss the top for the tub somewhere behind him. Wade nudged the other tub.

“This one’s yours, because you took too long.”

Peter hopped over the back of the couch, and grabbed the tub.

“Joke’s on you, this one’s better anyway,” Peter said.

Peter took the top off his own ice cream and grabbed a spoonful. He held the tub out of Wade’s reach when, predictably, Wade tried to grab it.

Peter didn’t realize how tense he’d been at the theater until he was back at Wade’s. He didn’t feel watched here. That voice at the back of his mind making him constantly anxious, telling him he wasn’t safe, silenced somewhat.

Peter ate his ice cream, half watched the show, and half watched Wade. Wade was one of those people who whole-heartedly emoted when he was watching something. Peter wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it. If something was mildly funny, he’d giggle, and if a joke was hilarious he’d do a loud laugh that shook the couch. 

Wade cried just as easily as he laughed. Last time, they watched Toy Story, he cried when Wheezy, the old penguin, got put in the garage sale. 

There was something intriguing about how open Wade was like this. Out and about in his suit, he was loud and confident. He had a particular persona that was Deadpool. Peter couldn’t tell how much was intentional and how much was armor to protect him. Even when Wade was being Wade outside of his apartment, there was something affected about him.

But here in his own space, Wade wasn’t self-conscious. He still joked and was loud, but he didn’t seem to feel the need to pretend to be happy or confident around Peter when he wasn’t feeling it. That felt like the most precious thing to Peter. It felt like Wade really trusted him.

Peter couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than Wade right now. Even with chocolate dripping down his chin, and wearing holey sweatpants, Wade was attractive. Peter wanted to curl up close to him and never leave.

Peter felt stupid for not realizing it before then. He liked Wade.

And then he did something that would make him feel even stupider later on. He kissed Wade. It wasn’t the kissing he regretted. The kissing was nice. Wade’s lips were warm against his own, and after the brief shock, he moved his lips against Peter’s, pressing them back. Wade licked Peter’s lips and Peter gasped, only to taste chocolate and feel an eager tongue pressing into his mouth.

Wade kissed like he did everything else – with excitable, chaotic energy. The ice cream lay forgotten in Wade’s lap. His sticky fingers reached out and tangled in Peter’s hair. Peter knew it would leave him sticky, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Wade kissed like this was the last thing he’d ever get to do. He kissed like he was drowning. Later on, Peter would realize that Wade probably had expected this to be their last kiss.

Peter didn’t really know how it happened. One moment they were kissing, and the next he’d climbed into Wade’s lap. He felt high on his own arousal and on Wade’s reactions. He opened his eyes to see Wade with half-lidded eyes. Wade groaned, and grasped at Peter, and Peter loved knowing he was the reason Wade looked so wrecked.

Without much thought, Peter tugged at his own shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Wade leaned forward to capture his lips again, and then he was picking Peter up. He wrapped his legs around Wade’s hips. It felt nice to be pressed against Wade like this. Why hadn’t they done this sooner?

Wade’s erection pressing against him made Peter’s heartbeat go up a tick. It was thrilling, and a little scary.

Wade walked them to the bedroom. Peter had a half second to realize what was about to happen, and then Wade tossed him onto the bed. Peter bounced on the mattress, and then Wade was on him again. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Wade said, smiling down at Peter.

This time Peter could feel the other man’s weight on him. He felt heavy. Peter tried to catch his breath, but they were kissing, and Wade was too close.

“Take this off,” Peter said, touching his fingers lightly to the bottom of Wade’s mask.

Wade guided Peter’s hands to the zip to help him pull off the mask, and then his face was bare, and Peter could see his eyes. He leaned up to kiss Wade again.

“I wanna touch you,” Wade murmured against his lips.

Peter tried to speak, but his throat felt stopped up. He must have made a noise that sounded like an agreement, because suddenly Wade’s hand was making its way down his body. Peter tried to focus on the feeling of Wade’s warm fingers. It felt nice.

He tried to calm his heart. There was no reason to panic. It was just Wade.

Wade’s hand skimmed along Peter’s side, and it tickled a little. Then he reached down to cup Peter through his pants. The sensation was nice, but Wade was still pressing Peter into the mattress, so it was hard to focus on his hand.

His weight was so heavy on Peter. It was too heavy. And suddenly it wasn’t Wade there pressing him to the mattress. It was Skip. But that was impossible, right?

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but it felt like he was choking. His throat was tight, and Skip was kissing him, holding him down, touching him, and Peter just wanted out. He needed to get away, but he didn’t know how.

Peter couldn’t breathe.

He went limp. If he just waited, eventually Skip would stop. That’s how it always went. He just had to wait it out. Peter needed to float away, and then he’d be safe.

Peter didn’t know how much time had passed, only that when the world snapped back into focus, Wade was standing beside the bed. He’d put his mask back on at some point, and his chest was bare. The scars looked redder today, angry marks like leopard spots.

“Shoulda known it was too good to be true.” Wade’s tone was biting.

Peter didn’t know what happened. Where was Skip? Or maybe he was never here. Skip couldn’t have been there That was a long time ago. Peter just imagined it.

“‘A’ for effort though. You almost had me fooled,” Wade said, his voice still hauntingly toneless.

“Wade?” Peter’s voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

“I’ll just show myself out.”

Peter tried to call out to him, but Wade was already backing out of the room. When Peter rushed to follow, he found Wade pulling on his boots and zipping up his suit.

“I really don’t think you’re gonna wanna be near me right now.”

Before Peter could explain himself, or try to stop Wade, the man was already throwing himself out the window and onto the fire escape. Peter’s throat felt stopped up again. His chest was too tight to speak.


	19. What Wade Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade finds something Peter accidentally left behind. Secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Skip is more overtly talked about in this chapter. Nothing too graphic though.

Peter played the scenario in the bedroom over and over in his head. What did he do? What did he say while he was out of it? It wasn’t difficult to figure out that Wade’s low self-esteem reared its ugly head, but why at that moment? Peter drove himself near crazy trying to figure out what he did wrong.

Peter didn’t hear from Wade for a couple weeks. It hurt. Wade was a friend. He was someone Peter was starting to trust, and now Peter didn’t know if he’d ever see him again. None of the other supers seemed to have heard from Deadpool. And going to Wade’s place yielded nothing.

It wasn’t until a few days later that he saw Wade again.

“You know, I kill people for money,” Wade said, apropos of nothing.

As with most of Peter’s encounters with Wade, it was entirely unexpected. Wade just started talking as though they were already in the middle of a conversation rather than Wade having tumbled in through Peter’s open window out of nowhere after days of radio silence.

“Um...I don’t have any money, and I don’t know why anyone would want me dead,” Peter said.

Wade cocked his head to the side, and stared at Peter. Peter’s spidey sense was silent, but he still couldn’t bring himself to relax after their last encounter.

“Ha! You think someone hired me to kill you? No no. You misunderstand, baby boy,” Wade said, walking towards Peter’s kitchen. “I wasn’t threatening you. Also, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead, and we wouldn’t be having this lovely little tete-a-tete right now.”

Peter followed him and watched warily from the doorway as Wade filled the electric kettle and turned it on. He was acting oddly nonchalant.

“What were you doing then?” Peter prompted. It was unsettling to see Wade in his Deadpool suit. Logically he knew they were the same person, but it didn’t really register until he saw Wade heavily armed. When they patrolled as Spidey and Deadpool, Wade left his weapons behind.

Wade searched the cupboards.

“I was offering you my services,” Deadpool explained.

“Why would I need to hire a mercenary exactly? I don’t have anyone I want dead.”

Wade made a noise of triumph and pulled out a tin of hot chocolate mix.

What would have ever given Wade the impression Peter needed to hire a mercenary? Oh god, what if he knew about Peter’s identity. Maybe he was offering to kill Peter’s enemies. That was so many levels of terrifying and also oddly…thoughtful?

Wade stilled, and when he turned around to look at Peter he looked almost sheepish.

“Okay, so I wasn’t being snoopy. I swear. I mean, for one thing I look nothing like Snoopy, and for another thing I totally and completely respect your privacy.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. Wade knew.

“That’s different, White,” Wade hissed to the side quietly.

“Anywho. Definitely not snooping. After I left the apartment that day… I came back to grab my bag once I was sure you were gone. You left your jacket. I was going to just leave it at your apartment or maybe burn it, but then something fell out of the pocket. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to know, but I couldn’t just leave it.”

Peter thought to the mask he’d been looking for. How could he have been so careless?

“Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Peter asked. “Just forget about it.” He knew he sounded resigned.

“We’re probably not friends. I mean, you probably can’t stand me after I royally fucked up, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think of you as a friend. I care about you, so I’m not gonna ignore that.”

“A good friend would just leave it. It’s a secret for a reason. Don’t you get that? People could get hurt,” Peter hissed.

“I can’t just – ” Wade sounded frustrated. “I can’t just forget this.”

“So what, you’re gonna tell people? Just shout it from the rooftops?” Peter crossed his arms, it felt like he was holding himself together. What was he going to do? How was he going to protect May now?

Wade flinched.

“You really think I’d tell someone?” he sounded hurt. “God. I may be the scum of the earth, but even I wouldn’t do that.”

Oddly, Peter wanted to believe him, but he’d gotten so used to keeping this a secret, that he was wary of anyone knowing.

“I’m gonna go,” Wade said. “Clearly I just fucked this whole thing up. I’ll leave and stop bothering you.”

Peter didn’t want to let Wade go knowing his secret like this, but as much as he was confident in his own abilities, he knew he couldn’t take Deadpool in a fight if it came to it. Not to mention he was still too stunned to do anything. So he stepped aside to let Wade pass.

The water in the kettle was nearing a boil.

Wade paused halfway to the open window and turned back.

“I just need to know one thing,” Wade asked softly.

“What?”

Peter saw Wade’s fists clench and unclench at his sides.

“Are you safe now?”

Peter wasn’t quite sure what Wade was asking. Was Spider-Man ever really safe?

“I mean, they’re not in your life anymore? They can’t get to you?”

The question left Peter feeling off-kilter, like he was missing some key piece of information. Was Wade worried about a specific villain of Spider-Man’s? Was someone out for Spider-Man right now?

“Got it. None of my business. I read you loud and clear.” 

Peter could hear the hurt in Wade’s voice. Wade mock saluted him, and then turned toward the window again. He only took one step before he stopped again.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Wade dug around in one of the pouches at his waist. “I should give this back. I know you could just get another one, or look up the number online, but I figure it was probably hard to get it the first time.” 

Wade walked back to the coffee table and set something down on it, sending Peter one last look. Peter leaned forward to see what he left, and then he saw a familiar folded pamphlet. Suddenly the conversation came into sickening clarity.

“Wait!” he called out. 

His throat felt tight, and his stomach turned. Peter had to know for sure. He needed to hear it from Wade.

“Before,” Peter continued, “you meant…” he trails off, and gestures to the pamphlet. “You were asking about… that.” Peter could feel himself breathing faster, his hands were shaking.

“What did you think we were talking about?”

Oh, maybe just the fact that Peter dressed in spandex and fought crime.

“Something… else,” Peter said.

Peter didn’t quite know what to say. He’d worried for so long that someone would find out about Skip. Part of him hoped no one would ever know. Another part of him had wanted to tell someone for years. He didn’t know if he wanted to toss Wade out of the apartment and never look him in the eyes again, or if he wanted to confide in him.

He felt nauseous and afraid. But another small part of him felt hopeful. Maybe he could finally stop carrying this around all by himself.

“Oh,” Wade said.

The kettle clicked suddenly, making them both jump.

Peter had one last fleeting thought of bodily throwing Wade out the window before he sighed. Peter dug his nails into the palm of his hand briefly to ease some of the tension in his body before he spoke.

“Do you want hot chocolate?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Wade said, but it sounded like a question.

“Come on then, and close the window. It’s letting the heat out.” 

Peter busied himself with spooning hot cocoa mix into two mugs. He heard the screech of the window shutting before Wade walked back to the kitchen. Peter resolutely kept his eyes on the mugs that he was pouring hot water into, although he angled his body so he could see Wade in the corner of his vision.

He saw Wade go over to the small table off to the side and take a seat. All of his movements were louder than normal, like Wade was trying to telegraph what he was doing. Peter couldn’t tell if he was grateful for the thoughtful gesture or annoyed at what was clearly pity.

He put the kettle back onto the stove with a little more force than he intended and it made a loud clattering noise. He went to the fridge to get the milk, and felt Wade’s eyes on him. Wade was muttering to the boxes again, but Peter tuned him out and finished up making the hot chocolates. Never before had he given such attention to such a mundane task. Once he finished stirring the two drinks he realized he’d run out of time. There was no more putting this off.

Peter turned back to set one of the hot chocolates in front of Wade, and then he went to stand by the counter and drink his own hot chocolate. He felt at least slightly more secure standing rather than sitting close to Wade. Wade was perched on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs. For once his limbs weren’t splayed everywhere.

Peters blew on the hot chocolate. The mug nearly burned the palms of his hands.

“We don’t have to do this,” Wade said finally.

“Yeah we do,” Peter said.

His hands were shaking again, and he had to set the mug back down on the counter. He pressed his hands into his armpits to hide them.

“We really don’t,” Wade said again. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Peter shook his head and huffed—a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“Do you really think you’ll be able to just leave it at that?” Peter asked. If Peter didn’t tell him, Peter was sure that Wade would just look into the matter himself. At least this way Peter got to tell the story.

Wade’s fingers flexed around the mug.

“I care about you. And I’m gonna want to gut whoever hurt you. I’d like it if you gave me a name for whatever face I need to bash in.” Wade paused, as though to collect himself. “But if you want me to drop it I will. Just say the word, and I’ll leave it.” It sounded like it pained him to offer to leave it be.

Peter was struck by Wade’s sincerity. He wanted to take it at face value, but that voice in the back of his mind that told Peter not to trust people, made him question it.

“Why would you do that? Why do you care so much?” He felt like that friendless, geeky twelve-year-old again. Why would anyone want to be his friend?

“Because.” Wade sighed. “I care about you, Petey.”

No one had ever asked Peter about Skip. No one had known to ask. Just thinking about it usually made his throat feel tight like he was being choked.

“So if I told you to fuck off?” Peter asked.

“Then I’d drop it,” Wade replied easily.

Peter took a sip of his hot cocoa for something to do, all the while aware of Wade’s eyes on him. He couldn’t bear to meet Wade’s gaze.

“But you want to know more. You want to know what he did, all the details of how he – ”

“Like I said, Petey, you really don’t have to share anything if you don’t want to.”

Peter reached forward to grab Wade’s gloved hand. The material felt textured and warm.

“I care about you too, you know,” Peter said. He needed to say that before he shared what he wanted to say next. He couldn’t be sure he’d get another chance.

“I know,” Wade teased. “But it’s nice to hear.”

“He was my babysitter,” Peter said.

He didn’t look up to see Wade’s reaction –  he didn’t want to see it –  but he heard the sharp intake of breath. Instead, he focused on the feel of the mask in his hands.

“No one would ever find his body,” Wade offered.

“Please don’t,” Peter asked. As much as he hated Skip, he didn’t want the man dead.

“Okay.”

Wade looked like it pained him to agree to that, but Peter trusted that he would respect his request.


	20. Lucky Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade finds something out. He isn't too happy with Peter.

As with most times something went to shit in Peter’s life, this time the disaster was both unexpected, and upon reflection, entirely his own fault. He could blame Parker luck all he wanted, but the truth was, a lot of the stuff that went wrong in his life came down to him being stupid or careless. In this case, he was both.

Peter’s day had been great. He went out with Wade as Peter to get photos of a new art exhibit, because he’d taken on an assignment at the Bugle to make some extra cash. It was much calmer than his usual photoshoots where he ended up frantically webbing his camera to something before jumping into a fight.

Afterwards, they got ice cream and chatted until Peter conveniently had to go meet Ned. He raced home just in time to change into his Spidey suit, and then swing over to meet Wade at their usual spot.

Patrol was just the right amount of boring but also busy, so that no one got seriously hurt, but Peter was left feeling like he’d made a difference. Wade seemed to be in good spirits too.

All of these good feelings, and feeling comfortable should have been a sign. Nothing was a red flag in Peter’s life quite like him feeling happy. But for once, instead of giving into his paranoia, he embraced the happiness. He whooped in joy as he swung around, giving Wade a piggyback.

After patrol, Peter swung them to Wade’s apartment. They did their usual dance of Peter saying he had to get home to sleep before work, but then letting Wade talk him into coming in for a quick hot cocoa, and maybe a snack. As usual, Peter found himself half in the suit, half in pajama pants, and with his mask rolled up to eat.

Tonight was Wade’s turn to choose the show, and they were watching reality tv, so Peter tuned in and out. Peter watched in disgust as Wade licked the cheese and grease from the pizza off of his gloves.

“Ew, do you even know where those have been?” Peter asked.

Wade wiggled his fingers towards Peter, who scurried backward on the couch, taking one of the pizza boxes with him. He managed to climb up onto the ceiling without dropping the pizza, which he counted as a win.

“I know exactly where they’ve been,” Wade wiggled his brows under his mask. “And where they’d like to be.”

He made some gesture that Peter couldn’t quite decipher, but he knew it was meant to be sexual.

Peter ate his pizza on the ceiling, occasionally dropping bits of crust onto Wade, just to mess with him. When he was done, he dropped down beside Wade, and set the empty box aside to grab some breadsticks.

Suddenly, Wade’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“I called dibs on the rest of these,” Peter said, tugging a little.

He didn’t use his full strength. Wade pulled Peter’s arm closer to himself, like he was inspecting it.

“You got a thing for wrists or something? This isn’t like a weird fetish or something, right?”

“I didn’t take you for a Lucky Lavender kinda guy,” Wade said.

“Huh?”

“The color,” Wade said. “Lucky Lavender.”

Wade tilted Peter’s hand so Peter could see his own hand. His bare hand. It took a moment for Peter to notice the remains of the purple nail polish Wade had put there a week ago.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Wade echoed.

Peter wanted to brush it off with an excuse; tell Wade that he’d painted his nails recently and say ‘Oh wow, is that what that color is called? You must know your nail polish colors really well’. He wanted to pretend he’d borrowed the nail polish from Wade. He could even convince Wade that it was Spider-Man’s nails he’d painted, not Peter’s. He would feel dirty using that excuse, particularly because he knew how much it bothered Wade that his mind wasn’t always reliable.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to lie to Wade. Not when Wade was still holding onto his wrist like it was a lifeline, like if he wasn’t touching Peter he’d realize this had all been some elaborate hallucination.

With his free hand, Peter reached for his mask. He hadn’t ever trusted someone with his identity. Not on purpose anyway. Ned found out, but that was because of an accident. Peter had never made the choice to unmask for someone. Not until now.

“I didn’t choose the color,” Peter said.

The air felt cool on Peter’s bare face. He clutched the mask in his free hand.

“You did,” Peter finished.

Wade’s grip on Peter’s wrist tightened minutely. He gaped at Peter, and Peter couldn’t help but reach up to fix his mask hair.

“You’re…and that means…” Wade sounded like his brain had short-circuited. He gaped at Peter, grip still firmly on Peter’s wrist. He pulled the hand to him as though to look at the nail polish again, before he dropped Peter’s wrist like he’d been burned.

“I’m Peter,” Peter said.

“Why keep it a secret? If you were going to see me out of the mask, why keep the two separate?”

“I almost told you so many times. I wanted to tell you, and then you found that brochure, and I thought you’d figured it out, but you’d found out something else entirely, and all I could feel was relief that my identity was still safe.”

“Me knowing who you were wouldn’t have been safe?”

“No. That’s not what I—”

“I get it. Deadpool’s the last person you’d want knowing your top secret identity. I mean, if you weren’t going to tell the A-team, why tell someone like me, right?”

Peter could see Wade spiralling, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it.

“Wade that’s not what it was.”

“Then what the fuck was it, huh?!”

Peter reached out, to put a hand on Wade’s shoulder, hopefully to calm him down, but Wade side-stepped his hand.

“You really don’t want to touch me right now, Spider-Man,” Wade said, his voice ice cold. 

Peter felt his spidey sense blaring, but instead of approaching Peter, Wade walked to the door. His steps were even, and measured, but Peter could sense his anger.

“You’re gonna want to be gone when I get back,” Wade said, and then left. Peter flinched as the door slammed behind Wade.


	21. Wadeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and May have a heart-to-heart. Also, he goes looking for Wade.

Peter didn’t realize how much of his time he spent with Wade until the man was gone for almost a month. Peter left the Bugle and there was no one to grab tacos with because Ned worked until late.

Patrols were quiet without an extra voice punning at the bad guys, or helping him brainstorm ludicrous additions to his suit.

And when Peter came home at night, Wade wasn’t there with takeout and his feet kicked up on the coffee table, ready to blow off steam with video games. The hide-a-key Peter left tucked into the door frame sat unused – Wade used to just pick the lock, but he started using the key at Peter’s insistence.

It felt as though nothing much should have changed, and yet everything was different without Wade.

When Peter went to May’s for dinner she noticed he was more subdued.

“Is work alright?”

“Fine.”

“How’s Ned? Is he still working for that video game company? What was it, a shoot ‘em down?”

“Shoot ‘em up,” Peter corrected absently, twisting the pasta around his fork. He wasn’t trying to be so down, but it was even more difficult to fake cheeriness lately.

May didn’t seem deterred by him being withdrawn. She continued to ply him with questions, even when he offered monosyllabic responses. They finished up dinner in this way.

He was all set to leave when she snagged his arm.

“Get some plates for dessert, would you? I’ll put the coffee on.”

Ever the dutiful nephew, he did as she asked. He should have known it was a ploy to dig deeper into what was bothering him. Lately, she hadn’t been letting things sit, maybe she was afraid he’d disappear again.

Once they were both settled down with plates of cake, and steaming cups of coffee, Aunt May spoke.

“You’re Spider-Man.”

Peter nearly choked on his cake.

May glanced back at him, eyebrow raised, and then calmly took a sip of her coffee.

“You really thought I didn’t notice with you living under my roof? You have never been as sneaky as you thought you were.”

Peter couldn’t help but go back through his head trying to think of moments where May might have given a hint that she knew what his nightly activities were.

“Besides, you stained the clothes in the wash more than once trying to wash your suit.”

Maybe he hadn’t been very sneaky.

“I mean, come on, you didn’t even bother changing your voice in the suit. I’m surprised all of your classmates didn’t know.” She set aside a plate and turned to face him, wiping her hands dry on a dishtowel.

“Spider-Man fought off the vulture at your prom. How no one guessed that Spider-Man was a student, I’ll never know.”

“When did you find out?”

“Your senior year. You must have gone out and just passed out when you got home, because you forgot to put your suit away.”

“And you weren’t angry?” Peter asked in disbelief.

May looked deceptively calm, but he could see the way her knuckles went white as she gripped at the table. She took a breath, and he saw her fingers relax.

“Of course I was angry. My teenage nephew was running around going toe-to-toe with killers. I was so afraid. Every day I watched the news religiously, watching to make sure Spider-Man didn’t get hurt.”

Peter felt a stab in his chest at the thought of May worrying and waiting at home while he was out fighting. He wonders if she had brought it up at the time, asked him to stop, if he would have been able to.

As if reading his mind, she said, “I thought about telling you to stop. I was going to make you destroy your suit, and ground you until the end of time.”

Even though he was an adult now, Peter shuddered at the threat of grounding.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I heard what you said. As Spider-Man. There was a fight with the Hippo or something silly like that.”

“The Rhino,” Peter said with a faint smile.

“Such a silly name,” May said, mirroring his smile. “And you had him stuck to the ground with those webs of yours, and you were waiting for the police to come. Some reporter must have gotten close, because they managed to pick up what you were saying. I don’t know what I expected. But you were just talking. Trying to understand why he’d done what he’d done.

“Here was this grown man who had gone around hurting people, and destroying things. He was a criminal. And you talked to him like you wanted to help. But it wasn’t just that. I’ve always known you were a caring person, even when you were a child you were so empathetic. It was what you said to him. Do you remember?”

Peter wracked his brain, but there were so many times he’d fought the Rhino, and so many conversations he had with the people he fought that he couldn’t remember.

May’s eyes were wet, and she looked like she was seconds from crying.

“You told him: ‘People with power shouldn’t abuse it. With great power comes great responsibility’ and that if he chose to use his power to hurt people then he shouldn’t have that power.”

The words, Ben’s words, hung in the air. Peter felt his chest get tight and tears well in his own eyes.

“That’s when I knew there was no stopping you. I knew I couldn’t ask you to stop being Spider-Man.”

Peter felt like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. It should have made him feel more worried now that knew May was in the know about Spider-Man, but it just made him feel like they’d bridged a huge gap between them. Ever since the spider bite he and May hadn’t been able to be as close as they used to.

May took in a deep, shaky breath, and wiped at her eyes. Peter offered her his hand, and she grasped his in both of hers. Her hands were warm and familiar.

“Is Spider-Man why you’re so down lately?” she asked, eyes searching.

“Sort of,” he said. “You remember Deadpool?”

She smiled.

“That man you brought over for dinner? The one you wouldn’t stop talking about?”

Peter blushed.

“He found out I’m Spider-Man, and he didn’t take it very well.” Understatement of the millennium. “I’ve been meaning to tell him, it’s just something that I’ve kept a secret for so long. It’s hard to break a habit that’s in the making for eight years.”

There was an odd silence where May’s forehead got all scrunched up, then she yelled.

“Fifteen!? You were fifteen.”

So maybe she hadn’t known all of it.

After some light yelling, and more than a few tears on both their parts, as well as a promise to give her names and numbers of his superhero contacts in case of emergencies, he told her about the situation with Wade. The advice she gave him was frustratingly reasonable.

“Give him some space.”

Peter frowned, and as though sensing his annoyance, May fixed him with a stern look.

“You’ve known all along you were Spider-Man, so it’s no big deal to you. But to him this is a big change. Just because he was friends with you as Spider-Man, and also you as Peter doesn’t mean he’ll be able to shift so easily to seeing them as the same person,” May said.

“But they are. I mean I am.” 

“This is a lot for him to take in. He needs time to let it percolate.”

Peter shoved a cookie in his mouth and chewed furiously.

“He’s been percolating for a month!” Peter countered.

“It’ll take him as long as it takes. And when he does come back he can decide how he feels about it all. I can’t guarantee he’ll still want to be friends, but I’ll be here for you either way.”

She put a warm hand over his own and squeezed gently.

Peter shoved another cookie into his mouth, and grumbled, even as he mulled over May’s words. Was that all he could do? Just wait for Wade to come to him?

Peter wanted it to go on record that he really tried to follow May’s advice. After he visited her, he went home and went about his normal routine. He moped a little, but aside from that, he didn’t try to track Wade down. The problem was that waiting was driving him insane. Wade could be anywhere, doing anything. He could be hurt or dead for all Peter knew.

He started by checking all of Wade’s safe houses that he’d visited before. None of them seemed like they’d been used recently. They were dusty, and unfortunately Wadeless.

Next, he tried the restaurants he knew Wade liked. He checked every Mexican restaurant he could find and the Chinese place they always ordered from. No luck. 

He harassed a few hot dog stand owners to see if they’d seen Deadpool recently, but came up empty there too.

Peter got so desperate he even went to the Avengers. Mr. Stark had made it clear that Peter was welcome to use their facilities at any time, so Peter decided to finally take him up on the offer. He climbed to the top floor and forced open one of the windows. Thankfully, no alarms started blaring. He couldn’t tell if it was because there were silent alarms, or if it was because the building recognized him.

Either way, he made his way to through the floor until he found the kitchen. He figured he’d swipe some food while he was here. He still wasn’t ready to forgive the Avengers for how they treated Deadpool, and their attempts to get him to ditch Deadpool.

He was a little ways into a bag of M&M’s when Black Widow came into the kitchen.

“Spider-Man,” she greeted.

“Widow,” he said curtly.

“Have you seen Deadpool lately?” He tried to sound casual.

“Aren’t you two usually attached at the hip?” she asked.

She grabbed a carton of leftovers from the fridge, a fork, and left.

After Peter finished the M&M’s, he made the rounds to the rest of the Avengers to subtly interrogate them.

“You’d know better than us about Deadpool,” Steve said when Peter questioned him in the training room.

Peter snuck into Stark’s lab next and tried to ask him. Stark stared at him blearily for a few moments after Peter spoke. The man had dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, and he chugged half his coffee before speaking.

“JARVIS?”

“Deadpool hasn’t been sighted in New York for a few weeks,” the AI answered.

“Well, there you go,” Stark said.

“I’ll just leave you to it, then,” Peter said, leaving the way he came—through the vents.

He ran into Hawkeye on his way to Thor’s floor, but there was no luck there either. 

By the time he’d made his way through all the Avengers, he had no new information and was left feeling more dejected than before.

No one knew where Wade was. He could be out of the country for all Peter knew.

By now, Peter was tired and feeling pitiful, so he went back home to do what he did best. He moped. He wrapped himself up in a blanket, turned on the tv, and tried to rest so he could repeat the same process the next day.


	22. Breakfast for Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade finally shows up. Peter cleans up blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a tad gory.

Peter felt pathetic and alone in his apartment, so he left the window open and let the stray cat he fed into the apartment. Kitty sauntered into his apartment, and proceeded to sniff and rub itself on everything. All the while, it chatted at him, making yowling noises, meowing and chittering to itself.

When he tried to give the cat the special wet food he’d bought, it turned its nose up at the offering, and instead insisted on being fed from his plate. And when he went to the couch to go mope, it laid itself right on top of his chest.

The cat was pushy and loud, and he could already see he’d created a monster by letting it into the apartment.

“Maybe I should name you Wade instead,” Peter said absently, stroking the cat’s fur.

Peter fell asleep on the couch to a shitty sci-fi marathon, and Kitty sprawled across his chest with one of its paws nearly in Peter’s mouth. 

Peter didn’t remember his dream exactly, but he knew the plot of the movie he fell asleep to melded with Aunt May making him breakfast.

He woke up with the phantom smell of pancakes in his mind. The TV was still on, playing a shitty infomercial, and the rest of the apartment was mostly dark, except for the kitchen light. Did he leave it on?

A glance at the window showed that it was still dark out.

He didn’t know what woke him up, but once his mind caught up, he realized the window was open, even though he’d closed it after Kitty came in. Wind and rain were coming in. He was certain he hadn’t left that open. 

Kitty was gone from his chest.

“Kitty cat?” he called out.

God, this was the start of a horror film. He didn’t get any indications from his spidey sense, but the situation put him on edge.

Cautiously, he stood, padding over toward the kitchen light. Now that he was focusing, he could hear scuffling. It was too loud to be rats. As he approached the light, he noticed red smears on the ground. That definitely wasn’t a good sign.

The first thing he noticed was Kitty cuddled up to the intruder.

There were smears of blood and red handprints on the cabinets trailing up to where Peter kept the cereal. The box of Lucky Charms was on its side and marshmallows were scattered across the floor. 

Wade was in the middle of it all, sitting on the floor, pawing at the box. Kitty didn’t seem to mind the blood or the strange man in the suit, because it was pressed against Wade’s leg.

Wade was in his suit, which looked like it had seen better days.

“Wade?”

Peter chanced a step forward.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t know if he’d rather the blood was Wade’s or someone else’s.

Wade made a grunting noise.

Peter couldn’t tell if it was a neutral grunt, or a stay the fuck away sound that meant Wade was still angry with him. But he figured if Wade was going to break into his apartment in the middle of the night, then he was entitled to check on the man.

“If you wanted breakfast for dinner, you could have just asked. I would’ve let you make us pancakes,” Peter teased.

The smell of copper almost made Peter gag.

Peter knelt beside Wade. Before he could decide whether it would be wise to pat Wade on the shoulder, Wade turned, and Peter could see what was wrong. The left half of his skull was caved in.

“Holy shit!”

Wade winced at the yell, and the wounded noise he made twisted Peter’s stomach.

“Sorry. It’s just—You’re—” Peter reached up but stopped himself before touching Wade. “That’s…very not good.”

Peter had seen a lot of gruesome things as Spider-Man, it came with the territory, but he’d never seen something quite so grisly. The sight of bone and brain matter made him retch a little.

Wade made a low, unintelligible noise.

“Okay. This is fine. It’s fine, Peter,” Peter said to himself. “You’re Spider-Man. Just need to compartmentalize.”

Peter took a deep breath, looked at Wade’s head, retched a little more, and then finally got himself under control.

All the while, Wade continued to fumble with the cereal box. His fingers lacked their usual coordination, but of course they did. He was missing half of his fucking skull.

Peter approached Wade slowly, making sure Wade knew he was coming. The last thing he needed was Wade lashing out. Wade didn’t seem concerned about him, though. He focused on the cereal with a single-minded determination.

Peter sat down beside Wade, and pulled the man back against him. It left Peter’s shirt slick with blood, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Wade was distressed, and Peter wanted to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

Once Peter got Wade propped up against him, he used his foot to stick to the cereal box and drag it closer. Wade made uncoordinated grabby hands at the bag.

“Yeah yeah. You’ll get your cereal,” Peter said softly.

He could see Wade’s skull filling in, slowly regrowing his brain, but it was moving so slowly.

Peter reached into the bag and got a small handful of cereal out.

“Open,” Peter instructed.

Thankfully, although Wade didn’t seem to be able to speak, he had no trouble understanding Peter. He opened his mouth and Peter carefully tipped the food in. Once Wade finished chewing and swallowing, Peter gave him another handful.

They continued like this for nearly half the box. All the while, Peter tried to ignore the bloodied handprints on the cardboard, and the gaping hole in Wade’s head.

Once Wade was done with the cereal, and some of his coordination had returned, Peter managed to convince him to move to the bathroom. Wade was still too out of it to take care of himself, so Peter washed off the blood, and got Wade as clean as possible without getting him out of the suit. Wade took a swipe at him when Peter tried to take even his gloves off. Instead, he wiped down the suit, and grabbed Wade a change of clothes for if he changed his mind.

In the end, the suit was as clean as it was going to get, and Wade refused to take it off, so Peter guided him to the bedroom. Peter tucked Wade into his own bed.

Once Wade was settled, Peter set to cleaning the kitchen. He started by sweeping up the spilled cereal.

Kitty cat watched the process at first, but wandered off when Peter pulled out the cleaner and old rags to start scrubbing. He sopped up the blood first, wringing it out into the sink, and washing it down the drain. 

Then he got new rags to start scrubbing. It was satisfying to scrub in big circles, to work his muscles. It was comforting to have something to do. When the rags were too dirty, he washed them off and wrung them out in the sink, and then got back to scrubbing. The process was slow and methodical.

He lost track of time, lost in the motion of scrubbing and the astringent burn of lemon cleaner in his nose. It wasn’t until his fingers started to burn, and he saw his palms were red that he finally stopped. His eyes burned, and he opened a window to air out the room.

The blood didn’t want to come out of the cabinets. He got most of it off of the floor, but there was a faint rust color all over that might never come out.

When Peter was done, he stood, looking at the kitchen. The place where Wade had been sitting was shadowed in red. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was Wade’s head –  bone and brain matter. He felt warm blood on his hands even though when he looked down they were clean. 

He went to the bathroom to clean himself up, not bothering turning on the light. He didn’t want to see what he looked like right now.

Peter made it to the toilet just in time to throw up. He sat on the tile, wiping at his mouth, and wanting to cry, but he was too tired to even do that. He threw up again, flushed, and then rinsed out his mouth.

Peter knew that sometimes Wade’s body healed different wounds at different rates. If there was shrapnel in the way or pieces of his flesh missing, it could take longer. If it was a clean cut it was easier. Mortal wounds took longer than papercuts, but if his body was already overwhelmed then a paper cut could last hours while his body repaired the more life-threatening damage.

It wasn’t an exact science, which frustrated Peter, because if it was then he’d be able to watch a clock and reassure himself with the knowledge that a missing arm took eight hours, and maybe a stab wound took one. But it wasn’t so predictable. All he knew was that Wade died and got hurt a lot, and he always healed.

He’d never really considered what it felt like to heal. Or what it did to Wade’s body. Not until tonight. And now he couldn’t get the image of bare skull and bloodied brain matter out of his mind.

Once he’d changed into clean clothes, he made his way back to the couch. The tv was still on, this time with a man trying to sell salad spinners. Why did people need to spin their salads? Did it make them taste better?

He didn’t mean to fall asleep. He didn’t want to sleep because he knew if he did, Wade might leave again. But he was so tired.

His dreams were frantic and bloody, but he wouldn’t remember any of them the next day.

The next morning, he woke up to a new box of lucky charms in his kitchen, and a bloody handprint left on his windowsill.


	23. Sister Margaret's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a bit of a breakdown. He goes looking for Wade again.

It was a Friday night, and Peter had spent the last two hours or so crying. He hadn’t been sleeping well. Between dreams about Skip and worrying about Wade, he was a mess. After he was puffy-eyed and feeling emotionally raw, he couldn’t sit still anymore. He had to find Wade; he had to see for himself that the other man was okay. For weeks he’d looked for Wade, and waited at their usual patrol meet-up spot, but he hadn’t had any luck.

He was about to give up when he remembered a bar Wade had mentioned once. It was a slim chance, but maybe he was there. Peter didn’t bother putting on proper clothes. He’d reached a new low, what did it matter if he wore real pants?

Sister Margaret’s was dark, and dingy. His presence drew attention right away. As Wade liked to remind him, he had a baby face, and his perpetual doe eyes probably didn’t help him blend in at a bar frequented by criminals. He made a beeline for the bar where a ginger hair-haired guy was pouring a drink. That must be Weasel.

Normally he’d make small talk or be more polite, but in his panic he blurted out: “Where is he?”

Weasel turned to him and eyed him, continuing to wipe at a shot glass.

“Where’s who?” Weasel asked.

Peter wanted to stomp his feet. His heart was pounding, and all he could think was that something was seriously wrong, and Wade must be hurt.

“Here, take a load off, kid. I’ll get you a soda. Maybe give you the directions to the exit, because I’m pretty sure you’re lost.”

Peter wanted to protest, but Weasel was already walking away to the mini fridge at the back of the bar. Peter stubbornly did not sit. Weasel came back with a cherry cola and set it on the counter in front of Peter who crossed his arms to keep him from being tempted to take it. He was feeling anxious and petulant.

“Where is Deadpool?” Peter asked.

“Where’s the fire, kid?” 

Peter could feel eyes on him, and he had to concentrate on regulating his breathing so he didn’t just start panting.

“Sit down, dude. You look like you’re gonna keel over,” Weasel said. “What do you want with Deadpool?”

Peter huffed, and considered ignoring the suggestion, but he was feeling wobbly on his feet, and he might as well sit down rather than falling over. He pulled himself up onto the stool, his feet dangling, and this was when he realized he was still wearing his pajamas.

“I like your jammies,” Weasel commented.

“Shut up,” Peter said petulantly, reaching forward to get the cola and popping the top off with a twist of his hand.

It was sweet, and cold, and right away it felt like the sugar and caffeine made him feel a little more prepared to handle the world.

“So what’s got you running into the place like we’re selling the last Taylor Swift ticket?”

“I need to find Wade,” Peter said. “I don’t know if he’s talked about me. I’m Peter. I know we’re not –  I need to talk to him.”

This made Weasel pause.

“You’re Peter.”

“Yes. Has he talked about me?” Weasel was staring at Peter now, and it made Peter shift on the stool.

“Has he— ” Weasel laughed. “Has he talked about you? Yeah, he might have mentioned you once or twice. Or a hundred times.”

“I need to find him. Usually, I can’t turn a corner without seeing him, but—” Before Peter could finish, Weasel was already cutting him off.

“God. Is he stalking you? Cause I know he looks like a shrivelled mushroom and Voldemort’s love child, but he’s actually harmless. Okay, so he’s not harmless, but I’m like eighty-seven percent sure he wouldn’t hurt you. Probably just look into some windows, maybe some light sniffing, but that’s it.”

And then, again before Peter could explain himself, a man leaned against the bar.

“Bud,” Weasel greeted.

“You’re all out of mints in the bathroom.”

“What mints?” Weasel asked.

“You know those round, minty things,” Bud gestured with his meaty hands to show something about the size of a hockey puck. “The mints.”

Weasel rolled his eyes.

“Bud, you’re a fucking idiot. Those aren’t mints, they’re urinal cakes.”

Bud seemed to think this over, and before he could open his mouth to speak again, Peter cut in.

“Where’s Wade?” he yelled a bit louder than he had intended to.

Bud and Weasel looked at him, and he could see in the reflection of the mirror at the back of the bar that the other bar-goers were watching him now too. And suddenly it felt like Peter’s anxiety was bubbling over, and he couldn’t stop talking.

“Seriously, if you know where he is, tell me now, because I haven’t heard from him. I know he’s still angry or whatever, but this is ridiculous. He can’t just keep ignoring me. I had this weird dream. And I got a bad feeling, and it felt like— ” he stopped himself before he said anything to reveal his identity. “It was a really bad feeling, and I feel like he’s hurt, or dead,” his voice shook on the last word.

He could feel his hands shaking, and he pressed them against the bar.

“Holy shit,” Weasel said. He reached down below the bar and grabbed a shot glass and a bottle of something and poured a shot. He pushed the shot glass towards Peter.

“Who’s the kid?” Bud asked.

Peter eyed the shot glass and before he could think any better of it he downed it.

“Wade’s boytoy,” Weasel said.

Bud eyed him, and Peter self-consciously took another sip of his cola. He didn’t bother correcting Weasel. Bud opened his mouth.

“Forget it, Bud. Wade’ll kill you,” Weasel said.

Bud seemed to consider it, and then opened his mouth.

“But what if— ”

“No. He’ll pull out your entrails and string them around your ears, dude,” Weasel said.

Weasel and Bud were both quiet for a moment like they were picturing the image, and then Bud sighed.

“Fine.” He turned to Peter, “If you ever get tired of Wilson’s money though I’ll take care of you.”

And then he turned and went back to his table. Peter was stunned.

“Did he just…?”

“Offer to be your new sugar daddy? Yes, yes he did,” Weasel said, pouring a shot into his mouth directly from the bottle in his hand. “Fucking idiot, Wade’s gonna kill him.”

“But Wade’s not…” 

Weasel eyed him skeptically.

“We’re not – ” Peter gestured vaguely. “I’m not a prostitute,” he finished. “Or a…sugar baby?”

Weasel laughed.

“I sure hope not. You look like you’re twelve.”

“What is with everyone saying I look twelve. I’m twenty-five!”

Peter took another drink of his cola and sulked while Weasel smirked. The feeling of unease had died down a bit, and now Peter couldn’t quite tell if it hadn’t been brought on by tiredness or lack of caffeine instead of any real danger.

“Do you know where he is?” he asked again.

Weasel leaned onto the bar and eyed Peter with a thoughtful expression on his face before he replied.

“I’m going to give you some advice, kid. I get that Wade’s all exciting, and rich, and he kills people for money. Every teenager likes a good antihero, the whole merc with a heart of gold, shit.”

Peter barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“He’s bad news. If I were you I’d cut my losses. I say this with all the love in the world to Wade, but you don’t want to saddle yourself with an ugly, crazy person.”

Peter had never wanted to punch someone as much as he did right now. He had to clench his hands in the fabric of the pajama pants to stop himself. His palms stuck to the fabric.

“Plus. He’s Canadian,” Weasel said finally.

“Are you done?”

Peter wanted to cry, but he also wanted to laugh. He felt like his emotions weren’t his own.

Apparently Peter’s body settled on crying. He felt big fat tears start rolling down his face, he knew his face was probably all scrunched up, and he tried his hardest to hold back a sob.

“Oh god. No. Don’t do that,” Weasel said. “Don’t.”

Weasel reached out like he was going to pat Peter, and then retracted his hand when Peter  pulled away.

“This is really happening,” Weasel said more to himself. “Fuck. Wade’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna kill me and Booth is going to win a hundred bucks.”

If possible, Peter started to cry even harder at the mention of Wade. Why was this happening? He woke up feeling okay. This hadn’t started as one of his bad days. He could feel his nose about to drip so he wiped at it with the sleeve of Wade's hoodie he had the forethought to pull on before he left the apartment. He’d have to clean it later for Wade.

“Tissues. Tissues,” Weasel said, looking around under the bar. “Shit. We don’t have any tissues.”

Peter couldn’t hold back a sob. He was crying in public, and he was in pajamas. It felt like a bad nightmare made reality.

“Where are the mother fucking tissues?! Anybody? Sweet lord, please let someone say they have tissues! We have a Disney creature crying who needs tissues.”

Peter heard shuffling.

“That definitely isn’t sanitary. Put that back in your fucking pocket, Buck.”

The silence was broken only by Peter’s quiet snuffles, and barely held back sobs. He tried to retreat into the sweatshirt . He pulled the sleeves over his hands and tucked his face into it. It smelled like Wade, which only sent him into a greater crying fit. 

Peter wished the ground would open up and eat him to spare him this embarrassment. 

“Okay. This is okay. We can handle this,” Weasel said. “There’s no tissues, but— ” Peter wiped at his nose again with the sweatshirt, “Yeah, that works. That definitely works. Plus, Wade’s probably into that, you know? Pretty boy snot on his favorite sweatshirt.”

Peter stopped, sleeve midway to his nose, and looked down at the sweatshirt. It was purple, and when he pulled it to the side to look at the back, he saw a giant unicorn with a rainbow mane.

“It’s his favorite?” he asked.

He looked up to see Weasel staring back at him with wide eyes. He looked like he was afraid to cut the wrong wire on a bomb. Peter didn’t have to wonder what he’s seeing right now, the mirror behind the bar meant that Peter could see his own puffy red eyes and the pathetic expression on his face.

“Uh… yeah. But like I said, he’s probably gonna get off on you crying all over it, so you really don’t have to do – ”

Peter made a loud sobbing noise.

“— that,” Weasel finished.

Peter put his arms up on the bar and face-planted into them. It did nothing to stop the sobs, but it at least muffled them a little. Although, it did mean that now the sleeves for the hoodie were well and truly covered in his tears and snot. 

He just wanted to go home. He wanted Aunt May. He wanted someone to rub his back and make everything better.

He was faintly aware of Weasel doing something behind the bar. He could hear other people in the bar, but his spidey sense was mostly quiet.

He took gasping breaths, and let each one out with a sob. He felt like a child. He felt like he might never stop.

Time must have passed, because one moment he was crying into his own arms, and the next someone called his name.

“Peter.”

It was Wade.

“Hey, baby boy. I’m here. Can you lift your head for me?” his voice was soft. “Can you do that for me?”

Peter lifted his head from his arms. The open air felt cold on his wet face, and he knew he must look a mess. He saw the familiar red and black of Wade’s suit, and wasted no time lunging at the man, burying his face into his chest. Wade caught him.

“Oof. Easy there, I gotcha.” Peter felt Wade’s words vibrate through his chest.

Wade’s arms came up to wrap around Peter, and when the move got a snuggle from Peter, Wade’s arms tightened around him.

“What the fuck happened, Jack?” Wade asked. Peter was not sure who Jack was, but Wade’s tone of voice was deadly.

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything,” Weasel said.

There was a pause.

“Seriously, man. Nothing happened. Baby face here came running into the bar like a bat out of hell – like he was hopped up on pixie sticks – asking where you were, and I gave him a soda, and he started freaking out and crying. I think he got snot on the bar.”

Peter felt one of Wade’s hands retract, and he heard the squeak of leather.

“Holy shit, Wade! That’s it I swear.”

Peter pulled away from Wade’s chest and looked up to see that Wade had a pistol leveled at Weasel’s head.

“Wade,” Peter said.

Wade spared him a glance, but whatever he saw made him frown more.

“You’re telling me Petey was sobbing like somebody died because of a soda?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

If possible, Peter felt even more embarrassed about his breakdown. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he’d finally snapped.

“Okay, okay. So maybe there was that one thing about Buck propositioning him. I warned him that he was crossing a line, but he just had to push.”

“Buck propositioned Peter,” Wade said. Peter had never heard him sound so deadly. “I’m gonna cut that fucker a new blowhole.”

He turned as though to do just that, and Peter saw Weasel making gestures for Buck to get the hell out of there. Before things could go anymore sideways than they already had, Peter reached out and grabbed Wade’s wrist to stop him. He used his spidey strength to physically hold Wade in place.

“Wade,” he said.

Wade was maskless right now. Peter could see the rage in Wade’s eyes.

“It wasn’t Buck’s fault,” Peter said. “That wasn’t what made me…it wasn’t Buck.” The truth was he wasn’t quite sure what set him off.

“Just because he didn’t make you cry on purpose doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a kneecap or two removed,” Wade said, trying to move away, but Peter held him fast.

Peter reached up to grab his other arm and turned Wade to face him.

“That wasn’t why I was crying,” Peter insisted.

There was a moment where Wade just looked at him, and Peter shifted under the gaze. He wanted to reach up to wipe at his face, or pull the hood up on the sweatshirt until he could cover his puffy eyes and snotty nose completely, but he was still holding onto Wade.

“I kinda rushed out on the job actually,” Wade said, looking sheepish.

“What the fuck, Wade?! You didn't finish it,” Weasel said.

Wade sent him a death glare, and Weasel lifted his hands up.

“Fine, I get it. I’ll just go to the other side of the bar and pretend to clean some glasses. Really hone my craft, you know?” He walked away to do just that, but Peter saw the way he eyed them like he was still listening.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, retracting his other hand. He played with the sleeves of the hoodie. “I didn’t mean to make you rush all the way here like that. I know you’re still mad.”

Wade reached out and nudged his chin up to get Peter to look back at him.

“We can talk about all that later,” Wade said.

Peter didn’t know he could cry anymore, but he felt tears well up again.

“Oh, um, or not. We could not talk,” Wade said, hands reaching out and hovering around Peter like he didn’t know what to do.

Peter felt his face scrunch up as he continued to cry.

“It’s stupid,” Peter said through a sob.

“What’s stupid? Is it me? It’s probably me. Or maybe Weasel? Buck?”

Peter shook his head.

“No, me. I’m stupid.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Wade assured him.

“I am! There wasn’t any reason for it. I came looking for you. I was worried, and then I was tired, and I couldn’t stop once I started, and I feel crazy. This—” He gestured to himself. “—is crazy. ”

Peter knew his explanation wasn’t making much sense, but he couldn’t make sense of the situation either. 

“You’re tired,” Wade said.

Peter made a frustrated noise and rubbed at his eyes a little harder. Wade pulled them away from his face. Wade’s hand came up at some point to rest on his shoulder, and Peter felt him rubbing circles with his thumb. It was soothing. Peter felt the tears abate, and unbidden he let out a sigh as some of the tension left his body.

Wade looked at him thoughtfully, like he was analyzing him before he spoke.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna call us a cab, and take you home or to your aunt’s, and get you settled. How does that sound?”

Peter nearly said yes, but then he thought of his empty apartment, and he remembered how his aunt finally had time off of work, and she had been so excited to take some time to herself and catch up on her reading. He didn’t want to be a burden to her right now.

“I don’t…” Peter shook his head. His mind felt foggy.

Wade, perceptive as always, picked up on Peter’s thoughts.

“Or, you know I still have a couple bags of those maple bacon chips you like so much. I didn’t get around to eating them.”

Peter wanted to thank Wade for letting Peter save some of his dignity, he wanted to let him know he appreciated him giving Peter an out, but instead he said: “Wade, maple bacon is your favorite flavor.”

“So it is,” Wade said with a grin.

Peter let himself be pulled into Wade’s side as Wade pulled out his cell phone to call for a cab.

Peter oddly felt better now that he’d finished crying. It was as though he cried out all of the stress and sadness that had been building. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but he certainly felt better than he did before. He also felt wrung out and exhausted. 

He knew they still needed to talk out the whole identity situation, and even after they talk Wade might still want nothing to do with him, but for now he was too tired to worry about it. All he wanted to do was cuddle up in a pile of blankets with some hot chocolate and maybe have someone pet his hair.

He let himself lean more into Wade’s side, and the arm that was wrapped around him came up to brush through his hair. Peter made a pleased humming noise at the back of his throat, which earned him a more purposeful pet of his hair. He distantly noted that Wade and Weasel were talking.

Soon Wade was nudging Peter. Peter sat up, and stared blearily at him. Wade’s smile was soft. It was so much like that time they went dancing. Peter sleepy, and cuddled up to Wade while he took care of getting them home. He could almost forget the fight.

“Good god. Get your Disney princess out of here or I might just vomit,” Weasel said.

Wade flipped him off, but didn’t take his eyes off of Peter.

“Come on, baby boy. Your chariot awaits,” Wade said.

Peter kept one hand on Wade’s arm to help him get off the stool, and partially because his hand kept sticking and unsticking because he was tired. Together they exited the bar and made their way to the taxi. Peter just barely kept awake enough to walk himself to Wade's apartment when they arrived. 

The first thing Peter did when he got there was faceplant into the couch. Wade came back to the living room a little while later with a giant pile of fluffy blankets, which he proceeded to cover Peter in until Peter felt like he was floating on a cloud. Five minutes into the film, Peter dropped off, swaddled in blankets with his head on Wade’s lap, and a comforting gloved hand gently rubbing at his scalp.

He knew they’d have a talk about the Spider-Man thing and the lying later, but for now, everything was okay.


	24. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade need to have a Talk.

Peter woke up with his head pounding. His mouth was dry, his eyes felt puffy and raw, and he was fairly certain whatever was on the pillow beside his face was a mixture of spit and snot. All in all, he felt wretched. It was like a hangover without the alcohol.

It took a few moments to remember where he was, and then he recognized Deadpool’s couch. He heard clattering and muttering coming from the kitchen, which made it easy to figure out where Wade was. Whatever Wade was saying to himself, he sounded upset, and for a second Peter toyed with the idea of slipping out of the window. He didn’t have high hopes about the conversation they’d have once Wade realized he was awake.

Any plans of making a quick escape fell through when he tried to extricate himself from the blankets tangled up with his limbs, and fell face-first onto the coffee table.

Peter wiggled, and rolled a little until he’d freed himself, and ended up belly-up on the floor. He looked up to see Wade poking his head out of the kitchen. 

Wade was covered head-to-toe in a hoodie, sweats, and mask and gloves. Peter had grown accustomed to Wade dressing down at home, and he hadn’t realized how much the mask and gloves annoyed and saddened him until now.

“No blood,” Wade commented, and then went back into the kitchen.

Now that he’d been spotted, Peter knew he had to face the music. He stood up, straightened out his clothes as much as he could. He buzzed to the bathroom to clean up and hopefully wash off some of the snot and tears. After a couple splashes of cold water he still looked pitiful, but slightly less dead.

He gave his reflection one last baleful glance, then squared his shoulders and went to the kitchen.

Wade wordlessly nudged a chair out from the table, not even turning to look at Peter as he stirred something in a pot on the stove. Peter was hyper-aware of the hum of the fridge, and the thud of the wooden spoon hitting the sides of the pot. Wade’s leather gloves squeaked as he stirred. 

Wade didn’t speak.

It seemed to take ages for Wade to finish, but finally the smell of chocolate filled the air, and he divvied up hot cocoa into two mugs. He set one in front of Peter, and took his own to the opposite side of the table. Wade didn’t roll up his mask to drink, and Peter couldn’t tell if that was because he wasn’t thirsty, or if he just didn’t want to show his face right now.

“We should talk.”

“I’m so glad you said that,” Wade said.

Peter felt every muscle in his body tense. His hands kept sticking and unsticking to the.

“This has been bothering me for a while, and I think we should hash this out.”

Peter couldn’t tell if Wade’s sure tone was reassuring or daunting. He knew he’d made a mess of things, and he needed to give Wade a proper apology. Apologizing was difficult, but it would be worth it to have Wade hear him out. He hoped Wade would be able to forgive him.

“Am I the only one who lost their shit when Ariana switched to female pronouns in ‘Thank u, Next’.”

Peter couldn’t decide if he should laugh or cry. Was this Wade’s way of brushing him off? Was he letting Peter know he was so tired of Peter that he didn’t even want to talk things out?

“I mean seriously. I spent a good three months convinced the song had gotten gay, and then Doms told me she was saying ‘Ari’ not ‘Aubrey’, and it all fell apart.”

Peter hadn’t thought he could cry anymore, but his eyes started to water.

“That’s some queer-baiting right there,” Wade said, jabbing his finger at the table in emphasis.

Peter couldn’t do this. The scraping of his chair on the floor mostly covered his sob.

“I won’t bother you anymore,” Peter said.

“Shit, Petey. No that’s not – Yeah, thanks for that, guys.”

Peter made to pull his hand from the table, but ended up pulling the tablecloth too, and his mug of hot cocoa came crashing to the floor with it.

“Shit! Stupid fucking sticky hands,” Peter swore.

He knelt down to grab the broken pieces of ceramic. His fingers stung as the ceramic cut his palms. He piled most of the mess into a hand, but just when he got it all gathered up, it all fell again.

“Petey, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself,” Wade said, closer than before. At some point he’d come around the table to kneel beside Peter.

Wade shooed Peter away, and kicked the ceramic aside in some semblance of cleaning it up. Then he tossed a towel on the ground to soak up the spilled cocoa.

“I should go,” Peter said, turning to leave again. He was nearly to the doorway when Wade stopped him.

“Don’t go because I’m shitty at talking,” Wade said.

Peter paused. He could leave now, and cry alone at home. He didn’t know if he could take Wade telling him to his face that he was done with him.

“Please.”

Peter sighed. He came back to the table and sat back down. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Wade’s eyes.

“I’m sor – ”

“Nuh-uh,” Wade interrupted. “It’s my turn.”

Peter’s mouth snapped shut.

Wade leaned back against the counter where he stood off to the side, arms crossed. It was odd to not have him invading Peter’s personal bubble like he normally did.

“You lied to me.” 

Peter winced like he’d been slapped.

“You lied, and that was shitty,” Wade continued. “It made me feel like you couldn’t trust me. Like I was good enough to watch your back sometimes, but I wasn’t good enough; like I wasn’t enough of a hero.”

Peter felt like he was being gutted. He’d fucked it up, the only relationship outside of May and Ned he’d had in ages, and he’d entirely ruined it. It hurt to hear, but he knew he needed to listen.

“I went away for a while because I had to think things through. Honestly, at first I was just going to take the first job Weasel had for me. It was going to be a big ‘fuck you’ to the hero thing, and to you,” Wade said.

Peter’s chest felt like it was being squeezed.

“But I couldn’t do it. As stupid as it was, I couldn’t disappoint Spidey like that. I couldn’t let you down,” Wade finished.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“So you’ve said.”

Peter couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over now, he tipped his head down to try to hide it.

“I was really fucking angry. I wanted to shoot you, or yell at you. It really hurt. You hurt me. I couldn’t figure out why you wouldn’t trust me.”

Peter held back a sob.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” Peter said. “I’d never shared my identity with anyone before then. Not on purpose anyway.”

He heard an intake of breath, and looked up to see Wade looking back at him.

“Why not?”

Peter couldn’t even quite understand why he kept it a secret like he did. At first it was to protect May, but then it was just something he did. If he kept Spider-Man a secret, then he didn’t have to let anyone get too close.

“You know back at the arcade, that first time we really hung out?”

Wade nodded.

“I told you there was this voice at the back of my head telling me not to trust anyone. I think I just got so used to listening to that voice that I didn’t know how to stop. I wanted to tell you who I was, I swear. I’d been planning to. It was just… hard.”

Peter’s face was warm and wet with tears, and his nose was stopped up with snot. He felt wretched. He just wanted to go home and lick his metaphorical wounds.

“So your excuse is you’ve got a voice in your head?” Wade asked. “That’s nothing, I’ve got two voices,” Wade said. His tone was serious, but Peter looked up to see he was smiling. “And I guarantee White and Yellow have got way more crazy than you do.”

Peter sobbed, but he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Are we still friends?” Peter asked, hesitantly.

“I don’t know if we ever stopped being friends, Webs,” Wade said.

Peter wiped at his face with his sleeve.

“Can we be hugging now?” Peter asked, surprising himself.

Before Peter could stand, Wade was tossing himself across the table to pull Peter into a hug. It was a little awkward with Wade partially sprawled on the table, and Peter ended up squished into one of Wade’s pecs, but it was warm, and just what Peter needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while, but you survived the angst and got to the fluff!


	25. Mutant Goats & Happy Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mutant goats attack New York. Wade really wants to adopt one. Peter would rather Wade kept his fingers.  
> Also, our fellas get their happy ending!

Peter made his way through the hordes of mutant goats–that was a sentence he could have done without in his life. He tried his best to web them down without hurting them, because yes they had creepy square eyes, and they kept headbutting people and eating everything in sight, including metal and pavement, but also they were goats, and goats were pretty cute. 

He’d cleared a path to make his way to the others, and overall it looked like the fight was dying down.

Black Widow and Hawkeye had been taking off any stragglers trying to leave the couple block radius they set up. Hulk was being oddly gentle, corralling the goats—apparently the big guy had a soft spot for carnivorous mutant goats. Ironman and Rhodey were blasting the goats with what Peter hoped were nonlethal bursts of energy–just because they’d eat people didn’t mean they deserve to die. Captain America had been knocking out the goats, and apologizing all the while. 

Peter hadn’t seen Wade yet, but he hoped the man had been using non-lethal force like he asked.

Despite the fact that the goats were fairly manageable, everyone was tired at this point. Peter felt his own energy flagging, and just as he finished webbing up another dozen goats, he saw a SHIELD jet arrive with reinforcements.

“Oh thank, Thor,” Peter said, feeling a twinge in his shoulder from when he pulled it earlier. He couldn’t wait to go to Wade’s and use one of his bath bombs. Peter had been skeptical at first, but after a little prodding he gave them a try, and they seemed to do wonders for sore muscles.

Finally, Peter caught sight of Wade. He was riding one of the goats who was trying furiously to buck him off. All the while, Wade knocked back other goats trying to take a bite out of him.

“Is he— ”

“Yeah, he’s been doing that for about half the battle,” Rhodey said from where he’d landed beside Peter.

In fact, it seemed like most of the other Avengers had come over to observe the spectacle. The other goats were taken care of, and there was really only a small pocket around Wade left.

When it seemed like no one else was going to help out, Peter jogged over and started pulling the goats off of Wade, and webbing their limbs up, so they were big balls of webbing. He set them in a line off to the side for the SHIELD agents to take away.

“Baby boy! I’d wondered where you got off to.”

The goat Wade was riding bucked, and finally threw Wade off. Then, it turned away from Peter to charge at Wade. Clearly it was not happy about being used as a pony.

Before it could make contact, Peter shot out a web to stop it in its tracks. He webbed it up and stuck it beside the others.

Peter offered Wade a hand up, and helped dust Wade off, mostly as an excuse to check him over. His suit and body thankfully looked mostly intact.

“Thanks for the save there, Spidey, Wooloo there was getting kinda vicious.”

“Wooloo’s not a goat— ”

Wade suddenly darted off, and Peter watched as he retrieved a bag tucked off to the side.

“Oh! You need to see what I found!”

Wade came bounding up to Peter. He had the bag tucked under one arm, and as he drew closer, Peter saw that there was a head poking out of the bag. A tiny goat head.

“Look! He’s teeny!” Wade squealed excitedly.

Wade reached into the bag and pulled out the goat, and then Peter was able to see how small it was. It was a tiny, dwarf goat. Or maybe it was a baby. Peter hadn’t seen any baby goats while they were fighting, but it stood to reason that there were baby versions of the odd mutant goats.

Wade came to stand in front of Peter, and he held up the baby goat for Peter to see.

“Isn’t he just the cutest?” And then, before Peter could reply in the affirmative, Wade kept talking. “I named him Bob One. I know, not very original. I was going to name him Bob, but there’s already one of those, so I figured he needed a different name.”

“Why Bob One, then? Why not Bob Two?” Peter asked, reaching out to give the goat a pat. It bit at one of his fingers, but his spidey sense warned him in time to avoid the chomping teeth.

Deadpool gasped and yanked the goat away from Peter.

“Bob One! We do not bite Spidey!” he scolded the goat, turning it towards himself so he could look it in the eye. Wade leveled a stern look at Bob One. “Good point, Yellow. We do not bite Spidey without consent.”

Peter heard a chuckle, and he turned to see that the Avengers had come over to observe the odd interaction. He was thankful for the mask that was hiding his blush.

“Oh hey, guys!” Wade said, shifting the goat to one arm so he could lift up a hand to wave jauntily at the others.

Cap politely waved back, and Wade got a little salute from Hawkeye, but otherwise the Avengers just stared.

“Have you met Bob One?” Deadpool asked, lifting the goat towards the others, presenting it like Simba. Peter put a hand on his shoulder to halt the motion.

“Maybe don’t hold the mutant goat like that, DP,” he said.

Wade looked at him with wide eyes, and finally nodded.

“Actually, you probably shouldn’t get too attached. He’s going to try to eat us all,” Peter pointed out.

And then, as if to prove his point, Bob One leaned forward and bit off two of Wade’s fingers. Wade swore profusely and creatively, but oddly he didn’t put Bob One down. Once the blood stopped actively flowing, Wade sent a hurt glance to Bob One, and then an even more pitiful one to Peter. Bob One looked almost contrite, but Peter was fairly certain that was his own imagination.

“No, Wade,” Peter said firmly. “He’ll eat the tv.”

Wade pouted, somehow making puppy eyes through the mask. Peter crossed his arms to ward off the power of the pout.

“And the couch,” Peter added. “And you just got the cushion squished down how you like it,” he pointed out.

The goat lunged towards Peter like it was trying its damndest to take a bite of his flesh as well, but Peter dodged.

“And you know, he’ll have to eat. You’re always out on jobs, so it’ll be me who has to feed him, and you know what will happen? He’ll eat me. He’ll eat me and I’ll be dead, which would definitely fall in the category of not good.”

Peter saw Wade’s resolve falter.

“But we can just put him in a bubble or something so he doesn’t hurt anyone,” Wade said, like the idea of a goat in a giant bubble rolling around his apartment was practical.

“Plus he probably has big scary mutant goaty parents that are worried sick about him. You don’t want to take the murderous baby goat away from his parents, do you?”

This seemed to do the trick.

“Fine,” Wade said. He sounded suspiciously close to tears.

Wade stepped toward the Avengers until he was standing in front of Cap. He brought the goat’s face up to his own like he was going to give it a kiss on the head, but the goat headbutted him before he could. 

Wade just barely held onto Bob One.

Wade turned back to look at Peter.

“That is just so Bob One, Spidey,” Wade said like they were talking about an old friend.

Peter wanted to point out that he’d only known the goat for all of fifteen minutes, but he bit his tongue.

“It’s what Bob One would want,” Peter said.

Wade gave a short nod before turning back to Steve, and thrusting the goat into his arms. Steve reached up on instinct and grabbed the baby mutant goat. Oddly, Bob One didn’t try to bite him. Maybe he was feeling too overwhelmed after being moved to a new set of arms.

“Be good, Bob One. I hope you don’t have trouble digesting my fingers.”

And then, oddly, Wade saluted the goat. Blood went flying from his mangled hand.

“What the fuck,” Peter heard Hawkeye say quietly.

And then, Wade shook himself, turned, and bounded over to Peter.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand, Spidey.”

He slung an arm around Peter and steered him away from the jets where SHIELD agents appeared to be carrying unconscious goats into the holds to take them away. Peter hoped they were going somewhere nice, and hopefully somewhere they couldn’t eat anyone else.

“Buffy and Mexican?” Wade asked hopefully.

“You chose last time,” Peter pointed out.

“Yeah, but you made me give up Bob One. I’m distraught, Spidey. I need my Buffy and tacos,” Wade said with an exaggerated whimper at the end.

Peter rolled his eyes and sighed.

Peter glanced back to see Bob One still firmly held in Cap’s arms. And oddly, the goat seemed to have snuggled into Cap’s pillowy chest.

“Fine. But we’re skipping the sad episodes, and you’re paying for the food.”

“I’m starting to think you only stick around for my body and my money,” Wade said with mock indignation.

“Well you’ve got one of those right,” Peter replied cheekily before tapping Wade’s shoulder and yelling “You’re it!” He webbed away before Wade could tag him back.

“Wait, which one?” Wade called out after him. "My body or my money?"

His Spidey sense thrummed lowly as Wade chased after him. Peter let out a whooping laugh on the next downswing, and he grinned as he saw people on the street pointing up at him and waving.

He slowed down a little to let Wade think he was going to catch him, but at the last minute he snatched Wade up, holding him in one arm, and shooting webs with the other.

“This is cheating,” Wade pouted, but Peter didn’t fail to notice how he wrapped both arms around Peter and cuddled in close.

Peter swung them to Wade’s place and deposited Wade onto the windowsill so he could climb in before following after.

“I’m thinking fourth season. That’s when Willow really comes into her own. And you know I like a sexy nerd.”

Peter absently listened as he pulled off his mask and made his way to Wade’s bedroom where he’d stashed some spare clothes.

“Sounds good,” Peter called out.

He didn’t bother shutting the door, Wade knew not to follow. They’d already talked about taking things slow. Peter put the suit aside and was pulling on his comfy clothes when he noticed something crinkling in the pocket of his pajama pants.

It was the brochure for the Potts Survivors Foundation. His first instinct was to crumple it up and toss it into the trash. Even just looking at the brochure made his heart pound. He tried to picture himself going to group therapy, talking about what happened. What would it be like to feel better?

He smoothed out the brochure, and carefully refolded it to put back into his pocket for later.

When he came back out to the living room, Wade was out of his dirty suit and mask and back into civvies. He’d sprawled out on the couch and was already watching the show.

“Finally, I thought you’d fallen in,” Wade said, eyes still glued to the tv.

Peter took a moment to appreciate the view before tossing himself over the back over the couch to sprawl on top of Wade. Wade’s arms wrapped around him, but he didn’t hold Peter down too tightly.

“Food’s on its way,” Wade said.

Peter nuzzled his face into Wade’s chest, not minding the smell of sweat and goat. He felt Wade press a kiss into his hair, and he grinned. His stomach twisted in a nervous happy kind of way.

Peter felt the friendship necklace that Wade still wore, pressing into his own cheek.

Peter sat up, and right away Wade’s eyes met his own. Wade’s hands were warm on Peter’s skin where Peter’s shirt rode up. Wade’s lips looked soft, and even though it made Peter feel like he’d swallowed a swarm of butterflies, he leaned closer. Wade’s eyes flicked down to his lips. Feeling bold, Peter closed the last few inches between them.

It was just like the last time they’d kissed. Wade’s lips were soft, and warm. And he let Peter lead the way. Peter braced his hands against Wade’s chest. 

Peter hadn’t realized how nice kissing could be until he was the one doing the kissing. Before now other people kissed him, and he just sort of let it happen. Kissing with Wade was so much more active. It helped that Wade pulled away a lot to look at Peter like he was making sure Peter was still enjoying himself.

When Peter was out of breath and flushed he pulled back. Wade was a beautiful sight, his pupils blown, and his lips kiss-reddened.

“I wanna do that a lot more with you,” Peter said. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love. He wasn’t ready for that, but all the same Wade grinned.

“Me too, baby boy, me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my story! Comment, leave a kudos, send me good vibes. Have a great day you beautiful creature!!


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